


The Infection

by Dacro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fatherhood, M/M, Mpreg, Polyjuice Potion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacro/pseuds/Dacro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Blaise Zabini believes he's won the last laugh after leaving Draco with a nasty reminder of just what happens when you spurn a Slytherin. What he doesn't anticipate is what is unleashed when you screw with a Gryffindor—especially one with Potter's courage and dumb luck.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Mpreg to you, ddayspring! I tried to make the slow-burn situational/emotional story you asked for—sexy but not too graphic, and no gender tinkering. I hope you like what came out of my head from your request. I really enjoyed working on this. Mpreg is very near and dear to my slashy little heart.  
> Thanks to SB, DJ and FW for the beta and the Brit-picky stuffs! *loves* And finally a big thanks to hd_inspired for running an awesome exchange/fest!  
> Credits: to djin7 for the bunnies that basically turned an 'ok' idea into a kick-ass plot bunny! *glompage* Thank you so much! Without your brainstorming talents, I'd still be stuck on the summary!

The Infection

~*~

Five minutes in the crowded nightclub, and Harry was ready for the door. 

He'd already been burnt by a carelessly gesturing smoker, stepped on by a bloke in high-heeled silver boots, had his bum pinched by a flirty server, and was now wearing a half shot of something sweet and sugary. Except for the sticky shirt, the last incident wasn't so bad. The bloke had been really attractive, apologised more than was necessary, and had given Harry his number. He didn't look quite old enough to have got in the door, so Harry pushed the napkin with the scrawled numbers deep down into his pocket politely, not intending ever to look at it again. Still, it was nice for once to feel desirable, even if he was in disguise.

If someone knew him well, they'd pick him out in a heartbeat, but he shouldn't have worried. At the club, he was just one face out of hundreds in the dark room. Regardless, he'd made a few changes. He spelled his hair long so that it brushed his shoulders, hid his scar, and changed his eye colour to grey. When a rough imitation of Sirius stared back at him from his bathroom mirror, he tried to imitate the cocky smile he'd seen in old Pensieve memories. The result made him laugh. It was the shot he needed to try something he'd never done before, but had been fantasising about for months—years maybe, if he was being completely honest.

Looking out at the flashing lights and squirming bodies, he came to the conclusion that maybe fantasies should be left alone, but decided to give the place at least a half-hour before he gave up and went home alone again. 

Suddenly, getting pissed sounded like a good idea. 

He yelled over the music at the bartender for a pint of whatever. The man winked and passed him something ice-filled and neon green. Harry shrugged, took it and threw down some money. The bartender ignored the notes, as well as the other shouting customers pushing themselves closer to the bar, and continued to stare at him until he got the clue and took a polite sip. It was brilliant. He drained it, winked back at the bartender, ordered another, and handed over more money than was probably necessary.

A few hours rolled by and Harry marked each one with several more glasses of the green happy juice, growing more sure of his environment, and allowing his mind and body to blur the lines concerning the rules of proper conduct in a public place. When he'd spent his last quid, he was surprised by a handful of blokes who insisted on paying for a few more rounds of the icy green liquid that tasted like sharp apple and caramel. He'd paid them back with a few dances out on the crowded floor, and a few light touches and polite kisses on the way back to the bar.

It wasn't until he saw the flash of white-blond hair on the dance floor and caught a glimpse of the Malfoy who wore it, that he finally felt he'd had enough liquid courage to reach out and take what he'd actually come to this surreal place to get. 

He moved forward with new determination, feeling his insides swoop with an odd sensation every time Draco arched his back over the side of a large speaker and rolled his hips against one of his admirers to the sexual pulse of the droning music. When the fan club noticed Harry's approach, they unexpectedly parted and took hold of Malfoy's hands to pull him forward, leading him right to Harry.

The moment they were face to face, Draco wrapped his body around Harry's and began to sway. Harry returned the embrace and shuddered with pleasure when Draco's lips tasted the damp skin at the base of Harry's ear.

"I've been watching you for hours. What's your name?"

"John."

Draco gave a short, soft laugh. His breath reminded Harry of the green drinks he liked so much. He moved closer to taste, and Draco's mouth welcomed him eagerly. Part of his mind tried to warn him of the dangers of being so forward with a former enemy, but there was nothing higher on his body's wish list than keeping his mouth right where it was.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" He asked suddenly. Harry tensed, but Draco smoothed his hands down his back, and Harry relaxed slightly. "No matter either way, it's just that if you were a Muggle, you would have been in my arms sooner."

Understanding hit Harry with an odd shred of clarity. "What did you cast?"

"Nothing sinister—a _Notice Me_ Charm—I wanted you to."

The music had jumped up a notch, and Harry thought he'd missed a bit of Draco's sentence. "Wanted me to what?"

He moved his mouth even closer to Harry's ear. "Notice me," Draco hissed seductively, and punctuated with gripping Harry's arse and pulling firmly forward.

"Oh, trust me, I have." But as soon as he said it, Draco rocked forward, pulling a gasp and a deep moan from Harry's lips. Waves of pleasure, impossible heat and the spinning sensation helped along by the alcohol, rushed around in concert and moved with sudden determination toward the spot where Draco was now rubbing in earnest. 

Whatever internal wall was holding back the last of Harry's decorum crumbled spectacularly, and he felt a surge of powerful need. He crushed his mouth to Draco's and closed out the clanging world around them. Draco melted into him, submitting to Harry's force, and allowing the hungry exploration. 

"You're so beautiful," Harry growled. 

Draco pulled back and stared at him. Harry thought he saw disappointment flicker for a moment behind his eyes, but then it was replaced by a mischievous smirk.

"Well, then. Would you like to see the rest?"

Harry knew he didn't have to say anything. He was positive his body's obvious reaction and the ravenous look in his eyes would be answer enough. In the next moment, Draco was pulling him toward one of the dark corners at the back of the club. 

Harry knew he was way in over his head but he couldn't care less. All his mind had time to comprehend was the click of the metal lock as Draco sank to his knees in the cramped stall and licked his lips, and the fact that it was far too late to turn back now.

~*~

_"You have ten minutes to collect your things before the wards change. Whatever you leave behind, I'll burn."_

_Blaise approached, fingertips lifting slowly in Draco's direction._

_"Think this over, Draco—we could still be…"_

_"No, we can't, you pathetic shit! Get the fuck out of my house!"_

It hadn't been a particularly eloquent break up, but Draco felt he was owed a handful of crass words considering the situation. 

Not that he considered what he'd been doing with Blaise anything close to what most would call a _relationship_ , but it stung nonetheless to discover him on a Firecall with his viper of a mother discussing Draco and the nature of their arrangement. He'd been recounting with enthusiasm how he was only _fucking his way to the top_ , using Draco—and his newly made connections—as a spring-board to better his standing in this new world where Potter had annoyingly changed everything. It was more than a slap in the face, it was betrayal. At the time, Draco felt Blaise was fortunate to escape with all his body parts still attached.

On the other hand, Draco was disappointed in himself, knowing that he should have foreseen Blaise's retaliation. But after weeks without any contact, random hexes or threats, he'd assumed that his former lover had either accepted Draco's decision to part ways, or else had found someone with enough prestige to slide into bed with, giving up the idea that the Malfoy name would bring him any benefit.

But Blaise had achieved his revenge, and Draco had walked into the snare ignoring the obvious signs when they surfaced all in one night. Potter appearing conveniently at the ground-floor pub in Draco's high-end office building, the hungry gleam in eyes that until now had been careful never to lock with Draco's own. Then the refilled drinks, wandering hands and whispered invitations that blended together until Draco had breathed out _yes_ and allowed Potter to take what he wanted—something Draco had never surrendered before. 

But then again, lust is never the first to look up and take notice when logic stomps into the room and pulls out a soapbox.

It wasn't until after the sweat was beginning to cool, and their breathing slowed that Draco heard ' _Concipio_ ', saw Harry's vivid green eyes muddy to a deep, menacing brown, and felt his insides painfully twisting up, that his mind finally realised that something was horribly wrong. Blaise's parting words rattled around in Draco's mind as the dark body slipped out from where Potter had been a moment before:

"I hope you enjoy my parting gift. Have fun in hell, Draco."

Draco curled up in pain, unable to follow, or even to throw a parting hex. He blamed everything on Blaise, except the small part of his brain that was cruel enough to scold him for not expecting revenge, and for underestimating a jilted lover and the seductive poison of power.

~*~

"So, Harry, tell me about Saturday," Ron said, handing Harry a beer and taking a seat beside him on the step.

Harry nodded thanks for the bottle, but answered, "Er…no," and stared out toward the sinking sun.

Ron stretched his long legs. "Oh, come on, Harry, I had to deal with hours of 'Why did he have to go alone, Ron? What if something happens? What if your mum finds out he's gone to a place like that, and asks us why we didn't stop him, Ronald?' - so the least you can do is give me the highlights, man."

Harry smiled. "Tell Hermione it was crowded, dark and filled with men—like every gay club, I guess."

"Kind of why you went, wasn't it?" he said with a crooked smile that reminded Harry of Fred. "Anything else?"

"Mehsomoh," Harry mumbled, pulling on the jumper he'd brought outside, but it had more to do with masking his embarrassment than the falling autumn temperatures.

Ron wasn't fooled. "What was that?"

"Met someone," Harry answered quietly, unable to stop his shy smile.

"Yeah, and…" Ron baited. "Harry, you're worse than Neville. Remember that time we tried to get him to admit to wanking in the…"

"Fine," he blurted. "It was good. Really good, but you won't thank me for details, so let's end here, shall we?"

"Fair 'nuff," Ron said, but he kept looking at Harry expectantly. "Why are you frowning if you had a good time?" he asked, taking another sip from his bottle.

Harry traced the label on his. "I want to see him again, and I know he—it's complicated."

"Oh," Ron started, but Harry could tell he wasn't sure what to ask next. "Er…he didn't give you his…um, his number?"

Harry looked up. "No, but—I really shouldn't contact him anyway."

"You've lost me, Harry." Ron shook his head, and then threw it back to drain what was left of his beer. "He wants you, you want him. What's the problem? Auction closed, go pay the Goblin."

Harry laughed, but at the memory of Draco's flushed face reflected in the flashing lights, his smile faded. "It's someone I know."

Ron summoned a jacket for himself, and another beer. "Oh? Thought it was a Muggle place."

"Was—is," Harry answered stupidly, setting down his drink on the stair below him, thanking whoever was up there that Ron hadn't asked who it was yet. "Well, he was there, and we…did stuff, but I shouldn't have because he didn't know who I was. I should have told him, but god, it all happened so fast."

Ron's freckled brow wrinkled up. "Who'd he think you were?"

"Someone named John who looked a bit like Sirius, and couldn't keep it in his trousers long enough to tell him who he really was."

Ron coughed, seemingly for something to do while he digested the information and willed down the colour rising from his collar. "Um, well, your instincts are pretty good. You must have had a reason for not telling him before you two did…whatever, yeah?"

Harry waited a moment, unsure if he should reveal anymore, but the concerned look Ron was giving him, helped make his decision easier. "Well, I had a reason, but I'm not sure if it was a good one or not," Harry began as Ron opened his bottle and took a long pull. "I just wanted him—Draco."

Ron choked and sputtered as he yanked the bottle away. It ran over with foam that covered his hand and made a mess of his jacket and trousers.

"Bloody Malfoy?" Ron gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

"Uh, sorry," Harry said quietly, patting him on the back. "Need a towel?"

~*~

Draco nearly laughed aloud at the absurd sight of a cautious eyeball peering out from the crack of the door. 

"Professor, a moment of your time?"

The door flew open revealing the rest of the rotund, little man who was now beaming up at him as if they'd always been fast friends. "Draco? My boy! What's it been?"

"Five years, sir," Draco answered, stepping in from the cold night, and immediately praising the stars that Horace liked his 'creature comforts'. 

The smallish sitting room was overdone with trinkets, but it was invitingly warm, and there were no shortage of comfortable chairs. Draco frowned as his back twitched uncomfortably, and sat before he was offered a seat. It was taking him longer to recover after each time he Apparated, but he couldn't spare any thought for that now. He had research to do. He turned his grimace into a winning smile for his host.

"Well, then, I insist you call me Horace. No need for formality any longer." 

Slughorn climbed into the chair opposite and rested his hands atop his great belly, which seemed to be even more substantial than the last time Draco had seen him.

"Thank you, sir." Draco said politely, as Horace's smile widened. "I need your advice on a potion to counter a spell," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to lay the flattery any thicker to get what he wanted.

"Certainly. Ask away."

" _Concipio_."

Slughorn's smile fell, leaving a comical frown in its place. "Oh dear."

Draco lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "Yes, well, the spell was cast on someone as a punishment," he paused as Slughorn responded with a dramatic intake of breath and an expression of shock. "And now it needs to be remedied by whatever means are available."

"And what has your research uncovered?" The old man asked, sinking back a little more into his seat cushions, observing Draco much more cautiously now.

Draco kept his tone pleasant, but took notice of the change. His hope faded slightly. "Some nonsense about being irreversible."

"I wish it were nonsense, but that is a true fact." A podgy hand wiped across Slughorn's lined forehead as he confirmed Draco's fears. "Very sad, but indeed true. Any action to terminate, and both the mother and child would die. It should be illegal, but in some rare cases, the spell has proven successful for producing offspring."

"Successful?" Draco squeaked. He inhaled a calming breath. It wouldn't do to waste a good emotional breakdown on Slughorn. "I can't imagine when something like that would…"

Slughorn poked the air with a fat finger. "I have heard of cases where the mother has had a history of miscarriages due to a conflicting blood-type with the child. The spell forces the body to accept the foetus and avoid natural termination."

Draco felt his last hope slipping away. "So I'm—so, the victim is stuck with…"

"Legal action can be taken, _should_ be taken against the scoundrel who cast it," Slughorn said with passion, pulling himself out of his chair with some difficulty. "The witch would have every right to demand a trial. It's a shame the lady had relations with a person who would do such a thing," he finished with a dramatic hand flourish and summoned a pot of tea.

"Yes, a shame," Draco said quietly, retreating into his thoughts until a cup appeared under his nose. He took hold of the saucer, but Horace was slow to release it. He held onto the china until Draco met his eyes.

"I'm assuming this is someone you know personally?" he fished, raising his bushy eyebrows up to his shiny forehead.

"Yes," Draco said honestly as the saucer was freed, but Slughorn remained annoying close.

"Then advise her to report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sooner than later, and if she hasn't already seen a Healer, I have several names I could recommend."

Draco took a sip, and felt it warm him from the inside. "No Healer yet—there's no rush. It's not as if the child will come overnight."

Slughorn's teacup rattled on its saucer. "As good as!" he shouted, startling Draco, who spilled some tea over the rim of his cup. "With _Concipio_ , the length of pregnancy and time of development is cut in two. I believe the term is shorted to twenty weeks, but it's been a while since I've read up, you understand."

Draco set down his cup and did some quick conversions in his head. "Four and a half months?"

"Yes! That's the other reason _Concipio_ is used with caution—very hard on the body." He shook his head at the floor gravely. "Poor dear."

"What happens if—are there any cases where it was used on a wizard?" Draco asked as worry iced over any comfort the tea had brought him.

"Can't say as to what would happen should it be cast on a male. I'm afraid that's beyond my field of knowledge, but I do know of a book that covers the—ins and outs of wizard pregnancy, as it were," he said the last bit on a chuckle. 

Somewhere between Draco's question, and the time it took for him to waddle over to a low set of bookcases, Slughorn seemed to forget all about the 'poor dear' of seconds before, and appeared to be quite happy with the change of subject. After a moment of rummaging, he resurfaced with a surprisingly pristine-looking book with a vibrant red-leather cover. "This might be of some use for the curious. It was written by a former student, and treasured friend of mine, Duncan Forbish…"

Draco was already moving toward the door as he closed his fingers around the offered book. "Thank you, sir. I'll have it owled back to you shortly."

~*~

It was the Monday after a long week spent at his desk fighting with the newest version of the Auror training manual. The Ministry Officials had given him two weeks to make revisions—holding off circulation until Harry had added his stamp of approval. But the process was slow going and was complicated by memories of the one brief moment he'd spent with Malfoy. It was consuming his thoughts and dissolving his ability to concentrate on anything except berating himself for not being honest enough to confess his identity when he'd had the chance. 

The lift clinked and rattled to a stop as the pleasant voice recited, 'Level four: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and the Pest Advisory Board.' Harry stared blankly at the colourful buttons and shuffled to the side to allow for the new occupant. 

"Looks like you're contemplating a walk off the old Astronomy tower," a vaguely familiar voice whispered, pulling Harry from his downward thought process. 

He gave Charlie Weasley a tired smile and offered his hand. "I might be forced to walk it if I don't get my draft done by Wednesday," he said grimly, indicating the messy collection of notes tucked under his left arm. "How've you been?"

Charlie looked the same as ever: bright-eyed, fit and more freckle-covered than the rest of his family. There was a slightly out of place look about him due to the fact that he was dressed sharply in what looked to be brand-new Magical Law Enforcement robes, but still had the rugged wind-blown and sun-kissed look that no other Ministry worker seemed to have.

"Tough luck, mate. I don't envy you that work," He answered, pumping Harry's hand. "I'm not bad—just got in. Had to stop at the old office and submit the armload of Division Change forms," he said, suddenly looking nearly as tired as Harry felt. "Guess Ron told you I'm back for a while?" 

The doors sealed and the lift came to life with a little shudder. Harry braced a hand on the wall, and he noticed for the first time that he and Charlie were the same height, and wondered for a brief moment when that had happened.

Harry smiled. "Yeah. Said your mum's been preparing for weeks." 

Charlie grimaced in response. "It was my idea to make the move back home for a while, but I made the mistake of telling her I'm only at the Burrow until I find my own place."

Harry chuckled. "I bet that went over well." 

"Oh, yes. Got a Howler by Floo the next evening. It came when I was…" He lowered his head so only Harry could hear the next word. "…entertaining—if you get my meaning."

Harry gave him a level gaze. "You didn't see that one coming?" They laughed together, earning a frown from a short witch who was squeezed in between Charlie and the lift operator. "Listen, I have two extra rooms in my cottage," Harry added as the thought suddenly formed in his mind. "You can claim one if you like."

"Sounds great," he responded enthusiastically, giving Harry a wide, warm smile. "Tonight too soon?"

"No, that's fine. Address is Astrum Cottage. I'll have you added to the wards."

"Get ready for your Howler once mum finds out," Charlie teased.

As Harry laughed to himself, feeling suddenly better than he had in weeks, the lift voice declared 'Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement' and began a long list of the divisions.

"Well, this is me," Charlie nodded at the opening doors. "Have to check in with the new bosses and all that. See you at home, then. Thanks again, Harry."

The short witch gave an impatient huff, and the doors began closing again, but Harry was grinning despite himself, and silently vowing to forget the mess with Malfoy for a while and get on with the rest of his life.

~*~

Two months had passed, but to Draco, it felt like a year at least, maybe two.

He clutched at his ever-growing stomach and tried to breathe through the pain as something else in a long line of bodily changes adjusted itself without his permission. The continued discomfort was causing a fine sweat to break out on his brow, forcing him to divert all his attention away from the daily planner on his desktop to the sharp pain in his lower back. At least he was sitting down this time. He still had bruises from his fall in the kitchen a few days ago when a different symptom had inconveniently surfaced before he'd had a chance to brace himself.

He swore at the top of his lungs when the wards rippled and an insistent knocking began. He felt no shame at the verbal outburst. After all, pain always allowed for a forgivable moment of swearing. He muttered a few words and a small, oval window appeared in the office door. The banging ceased.

Potter, the real one this time; Draco could tell by the look of confused annoyance.

"Care to explain this, Malfoy?" he asked in a door-muffled voice, pressing a letter to the glass and blocking his face momentarily from view.

Draco took a deep breath, let it out slowly and dropped the wards. It took more energy than it ever had before.

"Is this meant to scare me?" Potter asked, striding into the room, parchment waving.

"No, just a friendly reminder for you to keep your hairs, eyelashes, and any other disposable pieces to yourself for now on. I'd want to know if someone had been Polyjuicing into me."

Draco gave himself another mental kick for not identifying Blaise as the impostor straight away when he'd impersonated Potter. His Potter had moved with ease, confidence and just a touch of devilishness floating under the surface. This Potter looked like he was one earthquake short of an eruption—all choppy moves and flushed skin. Looking back on the night in question, Draco deduced that Blaise really hadn't done much more than alter his vocabulary slightly, and adopt Potter's nervous 'hand running through already messy hair' habits, but nicely wrapped in Potter's accidental attractiveness, Draco had fallen for it anyway.

A wave of queasiness hit him suddenly, pulling his thoughts back to the present. He tried not to close his eyes against the uncomfortable wash, but Potter had seen it, and his curiosity won out over his confusion about the letter.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine. Indigestion."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, well—why haven't I heard anything about this?" He raised the parchment again. "Shouldn't an Auror or someone have shown up to ask me questions?" Potter asked, coming to a halt in front of the giant mahogany desk that separated them.

"I haven't reported anything—yet." Potter opened his mouth, but Draco spoke first. "Let's just say it's in both our best interests to keep this quiet. I haven't seen the impostor since he—showed up as you, so I'd rather find him first, since we have some unfinished business."

"All right, but I don't like knowing someone's out there..." Potter set down the letter and wandered over to the bookshelves, but he turned back before he reached them, dragging a hand through his hair. "You know who it is, don't you?"

Draco nodded, noticing how the news seemed to be affecting Potter. He wondered if telling him at all had been wise, and yet something in Draco that still found attraction in goading The Chosen One, was curious to see how Potter would react to the rest. "Blaise Zabini. I invited him—you—here for the evening two months ago."

There was a few seconds of delay before comprehension bloomed behind Potter's eyes, but was quickly replaced with a look of accusation. "Two months?" he shot back, and then swore under his breath, making Draco grin despite himself. He forced it off his lips before Potter's eyes met his again. "What good is telling me now, Malfoy? Who knows what's he's been out there doing in my name? Why did you invite—how the hell did Blaise get his hands on my…"

Draco raised a hand, and Potter stopped abruptly as if he'd just been hexed. "Relax, Potter. Breathe." Potter set his expression to something neutral, but the knuckles of his fisted hands were starting to go white. Draco kept his voice low and calm. "I doubt he's planning to go out as you again. Sit," he added when Potter's rigidity became unsettling. 

Draco summoned tea, but what materialised was hot cocoa with plump, pink marshmallows. Odd. "Cocoa?" he offered, when it became clear that tea was not going to make an appearance. Potter nodded, not meeting Draco's eyes, and reached stiffly for the mug. Draco tried another calming breath and a slow sip of cocoa before starting up the conversation. For unknown reasons, this quiet Potter made him feel that he perhaps owed him a bit of disclosure. 

"He was my lover, until recently." 

Surprised green eyes met his over a marshmallow, but Potter remained silent. 

"To make a long story short, I ended it, and he was unsatisfied with that decision."

Potter ran his fingertips over the scroll pattern on the mug, studying it intently. "So, he decided to punish you…as me?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes." 

At the honest answer, Potter raised his head. He'd gone pale.

"Are you—did he—are you all right?" Potter's concern would have been laughable, except for the look of genuine fear behind his eyes.

"For the most part, but he did leave me something to remember him by." Draco answered flatly, and made a decision he knew he'd come to regret. He rolled out his chair, pushed up on the arms and stood, giving Potter full view of his swollen middle. In for a knut…

For a moment, Potter did nothing but stare until his eyes grew wide. Suddenly he was on his feet as well, still white as a sheet.

"What is—you didn't look like…" Potter stopped himself as colour flooded back into his cheeks. He looked away as if he'd been burned.

Draco hadn't known what sort of reaction to expect, and Potter's show would have been amusing if it hadn't left him feeling exposed and slightly irritated. 

Potter sputtered and attempted another sentence. "Do you remember exactly when it happened?"

"That's none of your business, Potter," he said, trying to maintain a tone that would guarantee him the upper hand.

If possible, Potter flushed an even deeper shade of red. His fingertips came up to his cheek, as if to cover the heat radiating off his skin.

"I think it might be my business. There _was_ one night a few months ago where someone was close enough to get something from me, something that could have been used in Polyjuice."

"What?" The confession peaked Draco's curiosity. He tried to hide his interest behind another sip of his drink.

"I was out on a Saturday night two months ago—at a nightclub, and I saw you dancing."

Draco let out a huff of annoyance. "Potter, that's…"

"Please, let me finish," he implored. "You were there and we—I mean, you, he and I—but I was in disguise. I'm sorry I didn't tell you then, but, god, Malfoy, you were…"

"Fucking Blaise!" 

Draco set down his mug harder than he intended. Cocoa slopped over a few papers, and he hurried to mop them up.

"What?" Potter asked, looking unnerved by the display of sudden anger.

Draco fixed him with a steady glare. "I haven't been to any club in over a year. You were taken, Potter. He knew exactly who you were."

"Blaise? Do you think he…?"

"Of course I do. It's the perfect revenge, isn't it? He gets to sit back and laugh at the both of us."

Potter slouched back as if slowly deflating. "Why would he use…why _me_ , Draco?"

The sound of his name on Potter's lips upended the cauldron of Blaise-bashing thoughts he'd been trying to stir together, and an entirely different mixture now presented itself. Even when Blaise has been impersonating Potter it had been _Malfoy_ that was whispered against his skin. It had felt right at the time, since that's what they'd always been to each other—it would have never occurred to Blaise that Potter would want to use his given name. But now that he'd heard it, saw it being formed by that mouth, and felt the intimacy deepen with a mere two syllables, he wanted to hear it again. Not that he was in a hurry to spill this discovery to Potter just yet, but he reasoned an exchange of information might keep the moment from fading away too quickly.

"I may have let slip during my time with him that I found you…somewhat attractive. He came to me—as you—because he knew it would work with his plan. It's as simple as that. And what would make my humiliation more complete than to seduce you—as me—so you, wanting more, would come here and find me in this…" He pointed at his stomach. "…condition. 

"Granted, my letter brought you here, so Blaise must not make a very passable me," he paused to smirk. "Or you would have been begging on my doorstep until the wee hours of Sunday morning."

Potter's cheeks still burned with colour, and Draco suddenly felt just as flushed. For some reason his heart was racing, and he wanted Potter to look up and say something.

He got his wish in an instant, but then Potter looked away just as quickly.

"I would have come sooner, but I thought you would have killed me for not telling you who I was that night."

Draco couldn't help the smile that surfaced, and he shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. They wanted each other, but neither had quite managed to make their shared desire a reality—not without Blaise in the equation, anyway. It was strangely poetic in a perverse sort of way.

A rustle of fabric drew Draco's attention back to where Potter was now standing, wringing his hands awkwardly. Green eyes found his, flicked down to his great belly, and then back up again before he turned and strode over to the fireplace. 

"We have to get you to St Mungo's now. I can't believe you've left that for two months! It's some kind of infection, right?"

It was the word _infection_ that set Draco off. For the first time in a very long while, he laughed. 

It felt good to let it out, and continuing the release became easier as Potter's concern melted into confusion, then into frustration, and finally he was cracking a smile as well, unable to resist the absurdity of the moment, even if he wasn't aware of being left in the dark just yet.

When Draco finally caught his breath, he stole a pink marshmallow from Potter's cup, popped it into his mouth, and gestured for Potter to sit once more.

"Infection is one way of looking at it," Draco said with a smile as Potter picked up his cup again and waited for the punch line. "He cast a rare conception spell—one that gives me very few options."

Potter's cocoa spilled out onto the floor. "You're pregnant?"

"Top of the class," Draco teased, taking pleasure in watching Potter's stunned expression. He cast a wandless Cleaning Charm, and the sticky drink vanished. When he tried refilling Potter's mug, however, it filled with something amber. Potter didn't seem to notice as he set it down and peered over the desk at Draco's middle.

"But, you said it's only been two months…I don't know much about babies, but aren't you a little…" He ran his hand though his hair again as Draco watched him search for the perfect alternate word for 'fat'. "Is it twins?"

Draco opened the top drawer and presented Potter with _The Risks and Rewards of Using the Concipious Charm_. "Read this. Slughorn found it for me. The pictures are dated, but the information is accurate."

"So, Slughorn knows? Who else?" he asked, staring down at the cover illustration of a very pregnant witch wearing a hospital dressing gown with a large yellow bow in her hair, and a tall wizard in frilly dress robes who was smiling with pride.

Draco sat again and played his fingers absentmindedly through a jar of quills. "He doesn't know it's me. He thinks a witch friend of mine is in a predicament. The only one who knows the truth is you—and Blaise," he said, making sure Potter was paying attention. "And you'll be keeping your mouth shut until after the _infection_ arrives. Is that clear?"

"You don't have a Healer?" Potter asked, apparently not hearing Draco's last command.

"Potter, do you agree or not?"

"No. What if something happens—you pass out and can't call for help?"

Draco closed his eyes in frustration. "You think I haven't read every document and book on the subject? Besides, I have house-elves on standby. This really isn't your problem."

"You're going to let house-elves deliver your baby?" Potter asked, in a level that nearly rattled the windows. He planted his hands on the surface of the desk and leant forward. 

Draco stood and mirrored the aggressive stance. "That's the way it's been done in my family for centuries."

Potter's face moved closer. "With witches, maybe, but you're going to need someone who knows what they're doing. There's more than one life at stake, Malfoy."

"You think I don't know that?" Draco threw his hands into the air and Potter backed off and sat once more. "Merlin's Rusty Pants, Potter, I'm not an idiot. But what do you think will happen the moment I get help? It'll all go public, and then my mother and I will go back to being whispered about and avoided by the people who used to do anything for the name of Malfoy before. Any headway I've made will be worthless." He took a breath, liking that he was now glaring down at Potter. "Once it's born, I'll either find someone out of country to raise it, or claim to have adopted it myself, giving the public an image of a philanthropist and caring family man."

"What about Blaise?" Harry asked quietly, all the thunderous protests suddenly gone. "What if he goes public first?"

Suddenly out of steam himself, Draco pulled his chair back under him. "He might, but then again, I think he probably ran out of the country to avoid my wrath. I also highly doubt he'd risk the public finding out what lengths he went to so that he could finally top."

The colour drained away from Potter's face, giving him the look of someone who might be ill at any moment. "So when it happened…" he started slowly. "…you didn't know it was Blaise."

"Potter, what have I just…"

"You thought it was—you thought you were with me," Potter whispered to the floor, almost as if he were only speaking to himself. After an uncomfortable pause, he looked up. 

Draco felt his skin flush under the searching stare. He had prepared for shock, revulsion—possibly even a few creative swear words. What he saw instead was calculation, determination and—he hoped he was misreading it—compassion.

Potter never seemed to live up to his expectations. 

"Would you see a Healer if I swore them to secrecy?" He asked quietly, still holding Draco with his intense gaze.

Draco sat numbly and tried to figure out why Potter hadn't gone running from the room. The silence dragged on until he heard his name coming from those lips once more.

"Draco?"

The weight of the situation, and the exhausting drain of the pregnancy seemed to settle over him all at once. What had seemed important only a minute ago now felt overwhelming. He found himself nodding. If he were truly honest with himself, he'd admit that going it alone had already taken a lot out of him. There was also the business of the house-elf delivery. Regardless of what he'd just rattled off to Potter, he was worried. 

Also, he might as well admit he hadn't written the letter to Potter to alert him to a hair thief—two months too late. In truth, he'd wanted to be face to face with the real Potter, to prove that any attraction he'd felt before had only been the result of a lot of alcohol, of Blaise's expert seduction tactics and…

Potter stood, reached across the desk and touched Draco's hand briefly. "I'm sorry about this—I'll find someone good. Don't worry."

Draco's hand burned where Potter's fingers had brushed it, and as his stomach gave a curl that had nothing to do with the 'infection', Draco felt frozen to the spot—helpless not to stare at the retreating black mess of hair. At that, Potter vanished in a rush of flames, leaving Draco to replay the words 'don't worry' over in his head, and wondering how he would find the energy to drag himself back to his work.

~*~

They were in the club again—wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Harry's hands buried deep in Draco's hair. Magnetic. He couldn't look away from where it shone silver-white in the rapid flashes of the strobe light. He pulled down gently and Draco's head tilted back, revealing a long, pale strip of skin that needed to be tasted. 

The whole experience was augmented, and yet so much better than the first time. 

He shook the sweat from his own hair and observed the subtle differences. Everything was brighter, warmer, more electric, and yet muted at the same time, soft around the edges like a memory—like intoxication. However, this time, he wasn't under the influence of any type of beverage and Draco was in no hurry to drag him off to the loo. They had each other, and the dance would only end when they wanted it to. 

The world slowed down.

As other dancers closed in around them, Harry let his hands wander at a snail's pace, absorbed in watching Draco's eyelids flutter closed, and loving the fact that he was the cause of such a reaction. Draco relaxed and moved where Harry directed, making encouraging sounds that somehow reached Harry's ears over the gradual swell of the music. He spun Draco around and they swayed chest to back, moulding to each other. Harry's hands slid forward over Draco's perfectly flat abdomen.

In the next moment, something pushed back—something that twisted and kicked until an angry swollen bump appeared. The music, dancers and lights resumed their frantic pace of before, and still Draco's belly pounded against his hand. Harry stared down over Draco's shoulder and watched in disbelief as the lump swelled, but there was no response from Draco other than the continuation of the contented sounds, and the gentle roll of his hips in contrast to the flurry of activity within and around him.

Harry pushed out in shock, shoving him away. When the stunned gaze locked on his, the hurt and confusion melted quickly, and Blaise stared back, an ugly sneer of victory distorting his features. He made to speak as Harry searched for Draco in a thousand faces identical to Blaise's. Their mouths were all opening as they advanced.

_"I win, Potter."_

Harry opened his eyes and took instant relief in the darkness of his bedroom. He was awake, soaked in sweat and panting like a worn-out Hippogriff, but there was some small comfort in the fact that this nightmare—unlike all the others—didn't feature anyone dead. Still, he rubbed his forehead out of habit, stripped off his wet pyjamas, and swore at himself for allowing Blaise to fool him so spectacularly in real life. 

Draco got the worst of the situation, but it stung that he'd let himself be fooled so completely, and it infuriated him to know that Blaise was out there, somewhere, having a good laugh over Harry's humiliation, and Draco's pain.

A thought suddenly struck him. He checked the time briefly before kneeling in front of the fireplace. It was very late, but he didn't want to wait until the morning. He threw the powder, called out "Malfoy Manor", grabbed his wand and pulled on a pair of discarded shorts seconds before a tiny house-elf head appeared in the flames.

It scowled at him. "Young sir, Madame Malfoy has retired for the evening. Call back at a more _appropriate_ time tomorrow."

"I need to talk to Dra…Master Malfoy. It's important!"

The elf head seemed to be moving closer, and Harry got the feeling he was being judged. "Master Malfoy has been residing at his place of business in London since young Master Zabini moved on unexpectedly. I suggest you call there. Good evening." With a dramatic sizzling noise, the elf vanished.

Harry found himself staring at the back wall of the fireplace. "Thanks for your help," he muttered darkly, reaching for another handful of Floo Powder. 

"Malfoy Fine Art Auctioneers and Valuers."

As the familiar office came into view, it was clear that the room had been in complete darkness before his arrival. The blankets moved on a large bed that filled the area where a sofa usually stood. As his eyes adjusted to the contrast, he found himself looking down a wand that led to a shirtless Draco bathed in firelight. Harry's heart hammered for all the wrong reasons.

"It's just me. I'm sorry for…"

Draco's wand arm fell, and he looked simultaneously relieved and exhausted. "Fuck, Potter, what time is it?" He asked, falling back down to the bed and rubbing a hand over his rounded belly.

"Late. Early. Sorry, I had to talk to you." 

Harry stepped into the room as the fire flared and then vanished, plunging the room back into near-darkness. A hazy glow from a street lamp lit up the area around Draco's desk and cast enough light to make out the rough shapes of everything else. 

Draco curled onto his side and grumbled something inaudible into his pillow. 

Harry took a few steps closer. "I have to ask you…has anyone seen Blaise since you saw him as me?"

"Potter this can wait. I'm sleeping, and you're practically naked. Go away."

Harry gave himself a mental kick for the lack of thought he'd given to his appearance before Flooing through into the room of someone he fancied. He was thankful for the darkness at least.

The reason for his haste quickly pushed his embarrassment aside. "I think I know how we can get him back."

Draco hummed sleepily and cracked open a cautious eye. "I'm surprised you'd jump right to revenge, Potter. I'm telling Granger."

The bed creaked with Harry's added weight as he sat by Draco's feet and noticed the comforting heat rising from the spot. Draco turned away from him, and pulled the blankets higher still. 

"It's justice. He committed a crime. I don't care what he did to me, but using a Conception Spell on someone who…I've been reading and doing my own research, and I know all the risks." Harry said, lowering his voice and wishing he'd left this until the morning. It was too intimate a setting to have this conversation, and rather pointless when the other person was already falling back to sleep, but he took a deep breath and said what was on his mind anyway. "I just can't understand why someone who claimed to love you would…"

"I never said he loved me, only that we'd been lovers." Draco whispered from the darkness. "Regardless, I haven't seen or heard from him, but that's hardly surprising. Someone from his Department kept calling my mother, but they stopped last month after I assured them he was no longer living at the Manor."

Harry ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair and stared at the window. The gauzy curtains blurred the world outside, but he could still make out a few lit windows against the rough shapes of neighbouring buildings and hear the distant city sounds of car horns and pub patrons. 

He spared a moment to silently curse Blaise again, and then spoke to Draco's back once more.

"He's gone missing from work, then?"

"Hmm…I assume so, but I haven't actually had the energy to go on a manhunt, Potter. I can barely transfigure this bed anymore, but since it's still here, I'm going to make use of it. When I'm properly awake, I might let you come back, but until then, go home."

The short speech was enough to make Harry rise guiltily to his feet, but the cry of pain from the bed halted his attempt to leave.  
Without thinking, he lit his wand and climbed across the bed to where Draco had thrown the blankets aside and was trying to curl into a ball while frantically rubbing his hands over as much of his back and sides as he could reach. 

"What…" Harry tried. "What is it?"

"Pains…" Draco growled out through clenched teeth. "They—fuck—they hit like four bludgers at once."

Harry dropped his wand and moved closer. Draco's face was scrunched up in agony, his frantic movements causing him to rock back and forth.

"What can I do?"

"Lower back", he choked out, rolling to his side, exposing his naked back to Harry.

There was no hesitating. When his fingers pressed into over-tense muscle, Harry couldn't believe the heat that was radiating from Draco's slick skin. He kneaded in small circles, gradually working outward until Draco groaned, breaking up the sound of rustling fabric and choppy breathing.

"Mmm…yes. Much better," Draco said, sounding relieved, and yet more exhausted than when Harry had first stumbled through the Floo. "It never lasts for long, but when they come, it's like every pain sensor activates. It's odd, I can feel everything: hair, joints, muscles, fingernails, teeth, and they all hurt like mad until it fades."

"Your muscles still feel the same," Harry observed, pressing a little deeper with his thumb, making Draco twitch. He snapped his hands away, hating himself for causing more pain. "Sorry. Too much."

"No." Draco reached behind him, fishing for Harry's hand and returning it to the same spot. "Feels great, actually. Could you keep going? It's not a place I can reach easily, and that where the pain seems to originate from."

Harry continued the slow massage as Draco hummed his encouragement, but he couldn't bring himself to use the same pressure as before. Draco stretched out and Harry watched every inch of him unfurl. Even with the tight, rounded bump in the middle, he was stunning. Pregnant was a good look for Draco, Harry just wished the circumstances had been different.

He let his mind wander with his fingers, creating an elaborate fantasy where he and Draco belonged to each other, their past was behind them, and the baby turning under Draco's stretched skin was theirs as well. Harry's skin heated with invented memories of how they would have moved together, furiously in love, rocking each other with passion and purpose until they cast the charm that would conceive their child—create their family.

Harry's fingers slipped over a hip and brushed the side of the bump tenderly. Draco rolled forward, pulling slightly away, and Harry understood. 

The fantasy vanished, but the heat that filled him remained, and he vowed to be open to whatever Draco was willing to offer. Harry swallowed and walked his fingers higher until he heard the contented moan he'd been waiting for—hoping for. It gave him courage to lay down behind Malfoy and study his pale skin in the dim light. Draco's breath sped up as Harry's touches became bolder, wandering away from lower back and slowly up to brush the goose-fleshed dip between his shoulder blades.

He knew this was a line he had no right to cross, but he couldn't stop his hand from exploring any more than he could keep his tongue from darting out once his lips had brushed the moonlight-touched shoulder.

"Potter..." It was breathed more than voiced, but not in warning. There was need. Permission.

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding and pulled Draco tight against his chest. The sensation of his skin pressed against Draco's gave him a jolt of arousal and power. He hissed against the curve of Draco's neck and tasted the skin there while Draco shifted closer and wrapped Harry's arm around his upper chest.

Blood rushed through Harry's ears as his heart pounded with excitement. His body remembered the night in the club: the lines of Draco's form, the light, salty smell of his sweat-dampened hair and the keening noises coming from his mouth, but his mind cruelly decided to remind him of who had been under Draco's image when they'd created those first memories.

His hand squeezed around Draco's. "I hate that Blaise got to you first," he said honestly, surprising himself with the sudden, harsh delivery.

"He was a waste of time," Draco confessed, dragging Harry's fingers to his lips. "Forget him. He's never been in this bed, and I plan to keep it that way." 

Harry vibrated with need and threw his head back as Draco sucked on his fingers and did wicked things that involved tongue and teeth. He willed his hand to leave the warm mouth and wrapped it around Draco's hip, pulling until they fit perfectly against each other. The pressure and confinement were glorious torture, but Harry still found he had more to say.

"But that night…I should have known it was him and not you. He cheated us, and I want him to hurt for what he did to you," Harry said firmly, startling himself again by how the revealing statement seemed to pour out of its own volition. 

"Yes, yes, vengeance noted," Draco said breathily, reaching around for Harry's hand again. Once it was captured, Draco pushed it around the bump and downward. "Now shut up and touch me. I've been hard for you all month." 

Harry quickly freed up his other arm, slid it under Draco's neck and pushed himself up on his elbow to take in the sight. His other hand was wrapped with Draco's and moving with a steady tempo up and down under the thin sheet that was slowly sliding out of the way. Draco's skin glowed in the colourless light and Harry lowered his head to press kisses to the damp forehead and the squeezed-shut eyelids. He shifted slightly, draped his leg over Draco's and rocked against the hardness of his hip, unable to resist his body's own need. 

Suddenly a hand was carding through his hair. The fingers closed into a fist and pulled as Draco came with a breathy moan—back arched beautifully—and Harry thrilled at the pleasure/pain it caused. A few more thrusts against Draco's slick skin and Harry followed him over the edge, panting into the hair covering Draco's ear.

He tried to remember every detail, catalogue every smell, sound and sensation, but his eyelids were already falling as his body found its own way back to the pillows, Draco's head still resting in the crook of his arm. 

It was hard to convince himself it wasn't a dream.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

_Draco,_

_Sorry I had to leave so early, but I have a meeting with the Review Board at nine. You said something to me when I got out of bed, but I couldn't tell what it was, so I think you might have still been asleep._

_Thank you for last night._

_See you soon,_

_Harry_

Draco placed the note he'd read five times during the course of the day on the shelf and stared down at his stomach. It was getting bigger, but even that terrifying fact couldn't dim the silly grin that crept onto his lips as he looked into the bathroom mirror and remembered the fortunate pain attack that made Potter literally jump into his bed and practically down his pants.

Perhaps The Infection was making itself useful at last, although he had no idea what Potter's reaction would be once it arrived.

"Harry," he tried out the name, fogging up his reflection momentarily. He looked away and said it again, thinking that the awkwardness he felt might go away if he closed his eyes and remembered whose fingers, lips, arms and legs had surrounded him the night before…

"Harry." 

It felt better now, more convincing, but it was still missing something. It was soft, intimate—personal. He wasn't sure if he was ready to say the name to anyone other than himself. He liked the sharp bite of the 'P's and 'T's in Potter, and the way Harry's eyes sparkled whenever Draco used his surname. It never mattered if it was whispered in longing, or shouted in anger, those green eyes always sprang to life. 

The Infection gave a twitch, and his stomach rumbled. "I just fed you an hour ago!" he said in mock-exasperation, making his way into the kitchenette for more cheese and apple.

Loaded down with a platter of snacks, he padded over to his desk and absently flipped through photographs of items his mother had recently acquired from a Muggle estate sale. Crystal decanters, an enormous hand-carved four-poster, a few passable works of art, and an ancient music box that had a note pinned to the bottom in his mother's fine handwriting, noting that it had once belonged to a Wizarding family, and was protected by a moderate Swelling Hex. Preoccupied with silently plotting the best way to lure Potter back to his bed, he turned over two pictures at once, and had to flip back to see what he'd missed.

He grabbed the picture and moved as fast as he could toward the Floo. It was nearly dinnertime. He prayed Potter would be home.

"Astrum Cottage."

Head spinning, he reached one hand out blindly, scraping it on rough brick. The other hand slid along the bottom of his belly to rub at a sharp pain. It had been a month since he last taken the Floo anywhere, and The Infection didn't seem to take it well.

When the pain dulled, he took in his surroundings. It appeared to be Potter's bedroom, and it was in chaos: clothes on the floor, half-empty glasses on nearly every surface and a mountain of blankets bunched up in the middle of the bed. He was pondering the stupidity of having the main Floo exit into a bedroom, when the pile of blankets shifted and a soft groan rose up from the middle.

The mess and his scraped knuckles instantly forgotten, Draco moved forward silently, drew his wand and cast a nonverbal Levitating Charm, hoping Harry was naked. Instead of revealing his prey, the fabric shivered fleetingly and transformed—with a burst of dust—into a mound of green feathers. 

Draco rolled his eyes and swore quietly at The Infection for messing up his magic.

"What the—that you, Harry?"

Draco froze, wand in hand at the unfamiliar voice. He whispered another spell, and was grateful it did what it was supposed to do…until the last of the feathers was blown away, and a freckled naked body was revealed.

The man—a Weasley by the looks of him—shifted, looked down his own body, and then up to Draco. He looked dirty, seemed hung-over and paled instantly as he focused in on the wand pointed at his head. He raised his hands slowly, showing his empty palms and stared wide-eyed at Draco's substantial stomach.

A thousand hateful words and curses churned around in Draco's mind as his chest seemed to collapse in on his lungs. It hurt. He looked down at his other hand and noticed drying blood and the crumpled photo. He looked back up to Weasley who was staring at him now with worry behind his eyes, and was lowering his hands back to the bed.

"Malfoy, are you…"

"Shut up, Weasley!" Draco snapped, and took a shaky step back toward the fireplace. "Give this to your lover." He flicked the picture onto the bed and Blaise's mother stared out from it—unmoving. "And tell him our business is concluded."

Draco coughed and pressed a hand over his heart as the Floo powder ran though his fingers and green flames sprung up around him, carrying him back to where he belonged.

~*~

Harry Disapparated directly into his kitchen and slid onto his favourite bar stool. He summoned himself some extra hot tea and the tray of various sandwiches he and Charlie had been working on for a few days—a welcome home gift from Molly. 

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. The meeting had turned into a day-long marathon, made worse by his constant daydreaming. He kept asking for questions to be repeated, and was constantly caught smiling for no reason. It was embarrassing, but he had nobody to blame except his own mind for dragging up delicious images of Draco stretched out beside him, gloriously naked.

"Did you get my message?" Charlie asked, striding into the kitchen.

"Hey," Harry said quickly, hoping he hadn't been drooling into his tea. "No. Haven't been to my office. I got out of the meeting and came right here. How was the party last night? Sorry I didn't go, but I was working on something, and…"

Charlie took a breath and scratched his stomach. "Oh, Party was great. The usual 'welcome home piss-up' at the pub, you know my brothers. But that's not why I wanted to talk to you."

There was something strange in his tone—something trying to pass as casual, but more pinched and rushed than Charlie's normal, relaxed way of speaking. 

"Everything all right?"

Charlie let out a long breath and clapped a hand over his forehead, as if trying to keep a headache from escaping.

"No, you got a delivery today, and I think we might have a bit of a problem."

Harry frowned. "It's cursed?"

Charlie smiled sadly. "No, but I think I may have caused a bit of confusion."

Harry pulled out the other stool and offered it to Charlie, who was looking uncharacteristically unsettled. 

"What happened?" he asked, trying to keep calm. It didn't bode well to see Charlie Weasley rattled. The man worked with Dragons for years, so if something had him nervous, Harry knew whatever it was, it was bad.

"I couldn't remember which room was mine when we crawled in this morning, so I picked the closest one with a bed and passed out. I woke up a few times today and noticed I was in your room, but I was comfortable—trying to avoid the hair of the dog—and I didn't think you'd mind, so I just stayed there."

It only took Harry's rattled thoughts a moment to line up, and when they did, he stood so fast his stool shot back and toppled over.

"Oh my god. He saw you, didn't he?"

Charlie's hand landed on his elbow to steady him.

"If by _he_ , you mean a pregnant and infuriated Malfoy, then yes, he did. I'm so sorry, Harry, he threw a photo at me and Flooed out before I could say anything. I didn't know you were seeing him, or else I…"

The air was suddenly too thin, and his heart was racing too quickly. He braced his other hand on the counter and tried to get his words to form. "We aren't…no one knows except Ron, and he just thinks I fancy Draco, he doesn't know…oh, god. Charlie, you can't tell anyone about the baby. Promise me." He added the command while staring at his friend, who now looked as ill as Harry felt.

"Is it your…" he began, but Harry's gaze begged him not to ask. "All right, Harry, I promise, but I want to help. Tell me what I can do."

Harry thought fast, searching for something Charlie could... 

"I need a healer who knows about wizard pregnancy and the Conception Spell, _Concipio_. No one I've talked to is willing to risk their careers for little to no information about the patient, but we don't have much of a choice right now."

Charlie smiled with sudden relief. "Leave it to me. I know a few people who might be able to give me some names. Oh, and this is for you."

The wrinkled photo landed on the wooden countertop. Harry's eyes went wide. 

He swung his gaze back to Charlie. "You deal with missing persons in your department, right?"

Charlie, looking thankful for the subject change, released Harry's elbow, and righted the stool with a wave of his hand. "Persons and property, yeah."

Harry's eyes sparkled. His anxiety over the situation immediately rearranged itself into a ball of focused energy. "I want to report a missing person."

~*~

When the Floo roared to life, Draco pulled the blanket up to conceal his stomach, and muttered a few swear words for whoever was interrupting his fruitless nap.

Potter's face, and a shadow of someone else's, appeared in the flames. Draco suddenly had the urge to throw up the wards again and lock him out indefinitely.

He'd had an upsetting dream the night before that led to a fitful sleep, and swollen ankles in the morning. He was sure he looked as dreadful as he felt, but he was damned if he was going to give Potter the pleasure of thinking it had anything to do with him.

Potter opened his mouth, as if reading Draco's thoughts. "Don't close the connection, please, it's important."

"Who's that with you?" he asked coldly, the effect ruined slightly as he failed to stifle a yawn.

"Healer Leach," Potter answered at once, as if he'd been ready for the question.

After a thoughtful pause, and a kick from The Infection, Draco saw the pointlessness in holding them off any longer. "All right, come through." He pulled himself into a sitting position on the sofa, and kicked off the suffocating blanket.

Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in a puff of ash. Seconds later, a tall, thin man with short, smartly cut light brown hair walked forward, passing Potter, who was brushing his sleeves and making a mess of a surprisingly fashionable topcoat. The healer in question had a kind, familiar face, but he still had a puppyish look about him, as if he wasn't quite old enough to be out healing on his own after dark. He offered his hand, and Draco reluctantly accepted, still trying to place where they might have met before—and then he had it.

"Leach, as in Nobby Leach?" Draco asked, dropping the man's hand and trying not to make his disapproval too obvious.

"Yes, my father." At Potter's blank look, Leach supplied, "Former Minister of Magic, but we're as alike as dragons and sprouts." He turned back to Draco who was calculating dates in his head from what little information he had studied of Leach Sr's term in Office, and estimated this one was somewhere around thirty-five, or thirty-six. Young, Draco reasoned, but if Potter trusted him… Then again, Potter was still unbelievably ignorant about matters of Wizarding politics, and had unwittingly just delivered the son of one of the slipperiest former Ministers in recent history—Fudge included.

However…

The irony of judging a son purely on his dislike of the father struck him as slightly amusing, and he endeavoured to give the Healer the benefit of the doubt. The man was still patiently smiling politely down at him. 

"Please, call me Curtis."

"Draco Malfoy." They shook again, and Draco felt slightly more at ease. "Potter's gone over the details?" he asked, trying to add a little extra dig to the P's and T's to let Potter know he hadn't forgotten about the naked Weasley incident.

"I believe so, but if you don't mind, I'd like to do an examination. I need to know if the baby is developing properly, and if your body is holding up under this added strain."

It all sounded logical, but a spike of something inside gave him the urge to protect himself and say 'no'. Instead he said, "I'd like to speak to Potter privately first, if you don't mind."

"Certainly."

Draco gestured behind him. The door opened slowly to reveal a small kitchenette. "We'll only be a moment," he said, wondering why he was being so polite to a stranger who'd soon be poking and prodding at him and the Infection. 

Once Curtis was out of sight, Draco cast an Imperturbable charm at the door. It started snowing on the rug.

"I'll get it," Harry offered quickly, as Draco scowled and rubbed at his forehead. 

He was more exhausted now than before his nap. Whatever he'd wanted to tell Potter had suddenly evaporated like the wet snow in front of the kitchenette entrance. Potter asked him if he was all right, and sick of the question, he mumbled something indistinguishably dark in reply

He gave Draco a look of concern. "Maybe you shouldn't do magic anymore. Looks like it takes a lot out of you."

"Where'd you find him?" Draco asked briskly, ignoring the ludicrous suggestion.

"St Mungo's Research Division. I asked—someone I trust to find out who the leading Healer concerning male pregnancy was. Curtis' name came up most," Harry said quietly, nodding at the kitchen door. "So I went to see him in disguise, asked for Healer-patient confidence, and then showed him who I really was."

Draco didn't know what else to say, except, "He's young."

"Yes, but he has experience. Recent experience," he said, taking a seat next to Draco, and leaning in, as if he had a secret to share. "He's married to a wizard who carried their daughter a year ago, and he's doing research on the history of various conception spells."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What's to stop him from publishing a paper with our names in bold?"

"He said he wouldn't unless you gave your permission."

Gullible Potter. Then again, Draco was well aware that he'd be the fool if he didn't get some sort of professional care soon. Potter was right, his magic was a mess, and all the reading in the world couldn't match having someone there to answer questions on demand, or tell him if this or that symptom really was typical—or not. It wasn't as if it would all stay silent for long, even if the Healer kept his mouth shut. It was getting harder to fake an illness and keep people like his mother away when his real illness kept him off of his feet and short on excuses. He knew his mother wasn't going to be put off much longer, and yet he didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes when she finally knew the truth of how foolish he'd been.

Draco looked back at Potter who was waiting patiently, but looked as if he were sitting on eggs.

"He knows the situation?"

Potter nodded. "The basics. I had to tell him something. He thought we were a couple, and started in on me about using that spell without..."

"What's he charging?"

"Don't worry about it," Potter said, pink filling his cheeks. "Listen, I'll let you have some privacy now, all right?"

"Might as well," Draco answered, shrugging, enjoying the way Potter's eyes darted to the two exits, as if trying to decide which would take him…

A warm palm suddenly pressed over Draco's hand, and Potter's intense eyes locked with his own, derailing his thoughts. 

"About Charlie," he whispered, while Draco's heart sped up without his permission. "He's an old friend who drank too much with his brothers and forgot which room he was staying in. That's the truth. He's sworn not to tell anyone about your condition, and I trust him."

Draco didn't know what to say. It wasn't a confession or an apology, but he was dealing with Potter, so some allowance had to be given, he supposed. Those eyes had told him everything anyway. An owl he received from the Weasley this morning said much of the same thing, but it had taken _him_ two full pages of guilt admission before he'd actually gotten around to the reason he was sleeping in Potter's bed. 

"Good luck," Potter said with a warm smile and a brief pat to his hand. "Let me know how it goes, all right?"

Once again, Draco was left tiredly nodding to Potter's back. He watched silently as Harry turned and gave him another comforting smile, threw down a handful of powder and vanished into the flames.

It was a long moment before he wondered how he was going to get the Healer out of the locked and warded kitchenette without conjuring another weather system.

~*~

Harry caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and looked up at the Call Frame reluctantly. Enough employees had complained about the inner-departmental memo system, but the Frame was almost as distracting as the thousands of zooming paper birdoplanes they'd been dealing with until now. The Frame worked similar to a telly, streaming general Ministry announcements in black lettering, and personal messages in maroon. If someone within the Ministry was calling direct, the frame would flash blue, identify the caller, and the recipient would answer. After that, it became more of a picture telephone.

Harry had managed to break six of them in the first week of implementation.

"Answer," he said, and pushed aside the new batch of edits from chapter five that he wasn't paying attention to anyway. 

Healer Leach's face appeared, and his eyes found Harry's quickly. 

"Sorry to interrupt your work, Harry."

"Everything all right?" he asked, cutting to the chase. He struggled to sound casual, although he'd been anxious since he'd left Draco in Curtis' hands.

"For the most part, but there are a few personal questions we need you to answer. It won't take long, but it might be more comfortable for you to come here rather than answer them on the public system."

Harry's stomach churned uneasily. "I'll Floo from downstairs in a few minutes. Is that all right?"

Curtis nodded and then vanished. Harry stood on shaky legs and took a few deep breaths. _How bad can it be?_ he thought, moving to the door and leaving his papers in a state of controlled chaos. _Just stay calm, and breathe._

The short lift ride to the Atrium took forever, allowing his thoughts to jump to as many 'worst case scenarios' as he could imagine. He tried to push them away as he stepped into the Floo, hoping that he'd made a good choice listening to Charlie's suggestion for a healer. _It'll be fine. He'll be fine._

When the room came into view, Harry's attempt at positive thinking flew out the window. Draco was sitting rigidly on the sofa, ashen-faced and squeezing his hands so tightly over his belly that they were turning an unsettling blue-grey colour. 

He closed the distance between them, forgetting there was anyone else in the room. "What's wrong?"

"Please, sit," Curtis said, and indicated the space next to Draco.

Harry sat. He found it hard to breathe normally, and he had no idea what to do with his hands. He finally decided on resting them on his legs as he snuck another glance at Draco. "You all right?" he whispered.

The only answer Draco gave was to release one of his discoloured hands and clasp one of Harry's. It worried him more than any words could have done.

"Draco's told me everything that led up to his pregnancy, but there are still a few pieces missing. We've been assuming the impostor acquired something from you to use in the Polyjuice potion on the night you thought you were with Draco in the nightclub, and then used the potion to disguise himself as you and deceive Draco. However, after a few…surprising test results, we thought it would be better to hear the entire story from you."

"What kind of…" Harry started to ask, but then stopped abruptly.

There was a faint squeeze. He looked down and saw their joined hands. He squeezed back.

"I was disguised and drinking—a lot. By the time I saw him, I was feeling pretty good. We danced and flirted for a while—I think we kissed, but I really don't remember that part very clearly. I wanted to tell him who I was, but things were heating up, and he said something about…" It came back to him with shocking clarity. " _Notice Me_ ," Harry blurted, raising his head to meet Draco's eyes. "I remember." 

Draco nodded for him to continue and the room narrowed until all Harry was aware of was the vastness of grey eyes and the thumb moving slowly over his.

"He had cast a _Notice Me_ Charm, or at least he said he did. He'd guessed I was a Wizard because I hadn't come running to him like all the Muggles. After that, I told him he was beautiful, and he looked like I'd just insulted him."

Draco's lips formed a half-smile at this new information, and Curtis settled himself into one of the chairs in front of Draco's desk.

Harry took a deep breath and rattled off the last of it. "He seemed to forgive me, we flirted some more, and then he pulled me back to the loo."

"We need to know what happened from there. Do you remember?" Curtis asked gently.

It was hard to pull his eyes away from Draco, but even harder to keep looking now that he had to share the whole truth of what had happened with Blaise. He felt achy and uncomfortable, and yet strangely grounded by the hand still gripped with his own. He tried to push reason at the guilt in his heart that told him he'd cheated on Draco with Blaise, while trying to calculate the odds of Draco forgiving him for finding Charlie naked in his bed.

"Breathe, Potter," Draco ordered, in the voice Harry remembered from school. It was sharp, but lacking any malice, and exactly what he needed to get through the moment of panic. Draco pulled their hands into his lap. 

"He locked the stall, and got down on his knees," he said, swallowing audibly in the middle of the sentence.

Curtis's voice broke into the confession, "Presumably performed oral sex on you, and then immediately Disapparated. Is that what happened?" 

Harry felt his face burn with embarrassment. "Yeah."

"And he didn't say anything to you?"

"No, nothing," Harry said, wondering if he should tell the rest. He decided the truth, however embarrassing, might be important.

"Um—I think his mouth might have been—I don't think he swallowed. He just winked at me, and then he was gone." 

He was sure Draco could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so uncomfortable in public.

"Thank you, Harry" the Healer said, standing. "I think we have the answer we were looking for. Could I trouble you for sample of your saliva?"

Harry twitched at both the suggestion and at the flat spoon-like object that appeared in front of him, but Curtis was quick to counter.

"Sorry, that was tactless of me. It's for one final test. I'd like to compare the results to what I've already collected from Draco and the baby."

His free hand lifted to the spoon, and then froze. "Why do you need _my_ saliva?"

"Please, it'll only take a minute," he said, adding an encouraging smile that Harry wasn't sure he trusted. "Just slide it along the inside of your cheek, and hand it back to me. Very simple and painless"

Beside him, Harry could hear Draco's breathing quicken, but he kept his eyes forward. Harry followed the directions, and then handed back the spoon sceptically. 

Curtis took it over to a small carafe of potion Harry hadn't noticed was sitting on the desk. He poured some of the contents into a tumbler, stuck the spoon into the mixture, and stirred it around like someone casually preparing their afternoon tea. After a few long moments of stirring, the murky potion changed consistency, became increasingly more transparent and turned bright green. It reminded Harry of the potent cocktails he'd been drinking that night.

The Healer drew his wand, pointed it at Draco's bump and said "Patris Resero."

A greenish yellow glow appeared around Draco's belly. Curtis held up his finger in a 'wait' motion, and they all stared as the yellow began to fade and the green took over and increased in brightness until it matched the liquid in the glass exactly. Draco let out an audible breath and shook his head.

Harry couldn't tell if Draco looked relieved or just more confused, but at least colour was returning to his cheeks.

"Well, that's that," Curtis said with a weary smile and reached for his cloak.

"Wait. What were you testing?" Harry called after him, half-rising from his seat.

"I think Draco should take it from here. I'll stop by tomorrow. Drink that nutrient potion I left for you with lots of water." He added the last bit to Draco who nodded silently.

Once Curtis was out of the room, Harry turned back to the sofa, ready to demand an answer. 

Draco's face was turned toward the ceiling, head resting against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. Both hands were resting on the highest point of his no longer glowing stomach, and while Harry watched, it moved. At first Harry thought it had been a trick of the fading light, but then he saw it again—a wave of movement—lifting the palms that pressed against it.

He suddenly realised he was holding his breath. He let it go in a loud exhale.

Draco's eyes opened.

Harry turned away.

He swept his gaze around the cosy office that suddenly felt too large, too quiet, and too cold. Harry pointed his wand, lit a fire in the empty fireplace and watched it dance for a moment. 

"Sit down, Potter. We need to talk."

~*~

It was done. The last of Blaise's secrets had been uncovered, and Potter hadn't leapt out the big window. His chosen reactions involved gaping at Draco opened-mouthed for a while, shaking his head for fifteen minutes looking like he was going to sick up, staring at Draco as if he were some kind of miraculous vision, and finally twenty minutes of kissing, touching and hushed conversation on the expanded sofa.

Fully expecting a lot worse, Draco settled against the warm body behind him and reached back to wrap Potter's hands around The Infection, which was beginning to move in earnest.

The first time Draco had felt the flutter that had later turned into identifiable movement, he'd felt ill. It was foreign, unsettling and just plain wrong for a man to be feeling a child wiggle around inside him. In response to that first lurch, Draco had taken the opportunity to look up some rather nasty curses that he could somehow bestow on all future male Zabinis. But as the weeks continued, and the movement increased in frequency and intensity, Draco finally forced himself to imagine what life would be like once he was actually holding the squirming thing in his arms. It became harder to entertain thoughts of giving it away, but at the same time, he didn't know if he was strong enough to live with a daily reminder of his mistake with Blaise.

When the first paternity spell cast by healer Leach turned a murky yellowish-grey, Draco was slow to register the information, but after the second—using Harry's saliva—had glowed that healthy green, his heart begged him to believe in miracles. 

"It's moving!" Potter whispered excitedly, chasing the wave of motion under his fingers.

"Yes. Does that quite often—particularly as soon as I've fallen asleep."

Draco had sworn enough times at his midsection, that he was fully expecting the first words from the child to be something foul, but there had been other moments, better days when he marvelled at the life growing inside of him and felt almost-affection mingled with anticipation. Then Blaise's face would surface in his sleep-deprived mind's eye, and his belly became The Infection once more.

"This is _my_ baby?" Potter said with hushed awe, rubbing his palms in gentle circles.

Draco hummed at the contact. Potter's hands felt just as soothing as hours in the bath.

"Ours, yes," Draco answered. He tipped his head back and rested it on Potter's shoulder.

A rush of warm air stirred the light hair at Draco's temple. He closed his eyes.

"Oh my god. I'm a father."

Draco chuckled quietly, eyes still closed. "Quite the feat, considering you became one without actually sleeping with me."

"I had no idea something like that was even possible without being in the room. It's a bit scary actually."

"Indeed, but a welcome relief," Draco said, brushing a kiss against Harry's chin. "I didn't want his child growing inside me."

Potter stayed quiet for a moment, but his hands continued to explore, and Draco felt the pulse point in Potter's neck pick up pace.

"So, Blaise used my sperm when we—when he—from the club?"

"Yes. It was quite a clever move. I don't think it's ever been attempted in recent history. That's why Curtis asked for your saliva. Once you told us what happened in the nightclub, we knew why Blaise's magical signature clashed with the baby's. We tested yours, and it was a match. The rest, you know."

"Where'd you get something of Blaise's to test?"

"He left some clothes at the manor. The Elves recovered a few hairs."

"Oh."

Silence settled around them, leaving only the muted sounds of London playing somewhere in the background. Draco could tell there were wardrobes full of questions waiting to burst out from the doors in Harry's mind, and yet nothing more needed to be said. Potter didn't seem to be going anywhere, and Draco was far too comfortable to give up the heat of the body behind him.

He was nearly asleep when Harry's whispered words slid over his ear.

"I wished for this, you know."

He took a minute to digest the words, and then twisted around for a better look at Potter's expression. 

"What, to be squished into the sofa by the pregnant object of your affection?"

"No, although that part's not so bad," he answered quickly, a touch of amusement in his voice. "I meant about the baby being mine, ours." He encouraged Draco to settle back again, returned to massaging the bump, and then continued. "Last night I watched you stretch out, and it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen—baby and everything, and for one moment I wondered what it would have been like to do this the proper way around with the dating, then the sex, and then the rest." 

Draco reached one arm back to play with the mess Potter called hair and contemplated the weight of that statement. 

"We've never done anything the right way 'round," he stated sleepily.

"Yeah," Potter mumbled, pressing his lips to the inside of Draco's elbow. "Thought about that too, and I was going to talk with you about giving it a go anyway."

"Even if it had turned out to be Blaise's infection and not yours?"

"I was going to ask you to move in with me, you know, if you forgave me for the Charlie thing."

It felt surreal to be having this conversation, and half of his brain was still trying to convince him that he was either asleep, or had fallen, hit his head, and was now lying unconscious on the floor, blissfully dreaming up this strangely normal and domestic scene. It was one thing to fantasise about rolling around with Potter in sweaty bliss, showing him off at the best restaurants, and sneaking off for extravagant weekend trips filled with lots of wine and very little clothing. It was quite another matter altogether to go straight into negotiation concerning 'giving it a go', moving in together, and who is responsible for tracking down the best Spells for cleaning nappies.

"That's a little sudden, don't you think?"

Harry shifted beneath him.

"The baby needs a home, I want to get to know you better, and something tells me you're not keen to be at the Manor right now."

He gave it a moment of thought, but was distracted by the southbound movement of Potter's fingers.

"I think it's pointless to deny my interest in you at this point, however…"

Harry cut across. "Will you think about it? Even if you just stayed in the other guest room until the baby comes? I'd feel better if you weren't alone in this office."

Truth was, he could use a change of scenery—the office was beginning to drive him mad. And if he were living with Potter, there would be a good chance he'd get more massages, and be able to talk Harry into summoning things for him, now that he was forbidden to do magic until after the delivery. And sex, although how much they'd want or have time for once a screaming, crying little being was fighting for their attention, he really couldn't even guess. On the other hand, living with Blaise had led to his current position, so the precedent was nothing to put much stock in.

He watched Harry's fingers play with the fabric of his shirt, and a new thought slipped into place—a thought for the Infec... For the child. Their child. They'd been talking about it for a good portion of the evening, but the meaning of it all still hadn't been sharp and clear in his mind until this moment. It wasn't only his burden anymore, and it wasn't an infection—it was a child, Potter's and his. 

_I wished for this, you know_

Draco rolled the confession around until he understood it from all angles. He was being honest. Harry wanted this—them. He'd dreamt about it, hoped for it.

Draco flushed with sudden embarrassment, ashamed for his immaturity and lack of insight at not seeing the invitation for what it truly was. He covered with an attempt at humour. 

"Fine. But tell Weasley to wear some clothes around the house. No child should witness that many freckles."

"Deal."

Letting romanticism hold him a moment longer, he pulled Potter's lips to his own to seal the contract, lingering there until the twinge in his neck refused to be ignored any longer. He settled back into the curve of skin between Harry's neck and shoulder.

"You really dreamt of having a child with me?"

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"And it doesn't trouble you that we..."

"We have lots of time to learn about each other."

"While learning how to take care of an infant?"

"I didn't say it would be easy. I have a feeling we'll get more advice then we'll want at first."

An image of his mother and Molly Weasley standing side by side making 'suggestions' at them made Draco shudder. "Oh, don't remind me."

Harry's hands stilled.

"Did Curtis tell you if it's a girl or a boy?"

"Yes," Draco answered, smiling to himself.

"Well?"

"I'll tell you for another backrub."

"Tell me first, and I'll rub everything."

It wasn't a wager he particularly minded losing. Potter's hands were sinful.

~*~

Harry was a master at navigating his cottage in the dark. It didn't matter what time of night it was, he never needed light to make his way to the loo, the bed, the hall closet for another blanket, the front window to make sure it was closed tight for the evening, and especially not the kitchen. He could probably find his way to the kitchen from anywhere in the village. Therefore, it came as a surprise when he stumbled through the doorway and collided with a solid body.

"Oh, sorry, Harry. Can't sleep?"

"Oh, I—I'm fine, I was just…what?" He yawned.

"I was on my way to the loo and suddenly felt the need for a snack." Charlie confessed, reminding Harry of Ron's bottomless appetite.

Harry gave a sleepy laugh. "So does Draco, but since I'm not the pregnant one, I get the job of finding wheat toast and pumpkin juice with three ice cubes."

"You have a second for some milk and a chat while you get his order together?"

Something in Charlie's voice cleared Harry's sleepy mind. He nodded, fearing bad news, but not knowing why. 

"Sure."

Charlie poured milk into two whiskey glasses while Harry pulled out the stools. Charlie sipped his milk slowly, set it down, took a breath, and then looked at Harry with an odd expression.

Harry's uneasiness jumped up the ladder.

"And just when are you planning on telling everybody about the Malfoy we're harbouring?"

Harry sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. "Sunday, but not everyone, just your family, and…"

"And?" Charlie asked, raising his eyebrows in unison.

"Narcissa."

Charlie's glass slammed down on the counter. Harry jumped.

"What are we drinking milk for? You're going to need something stronger once Ron finds out you didn't tell him first."

Harry grimaced. "You might have a point there."

He didn't know why he hadn't run over to Ron and Hermione's the minute he'd found out about being a father, but he guessed it was the same reason that was responsible for telling him to wait four more days. Might as well run into the storm head on, get it all over with in one great explosion, and then he'd only have to explain it all once.

"Oh, I took a look at the files on Zabini's mother's ex-husbands, and the research work is embarrassing. I'm guessing there was some hush-up money passed under Fudge's nose at one time, and nobody's gone back to look into it since."

With only a week or so left in Draco's shortened pregnancy, all the urgency Harry had felt about finding and punishing Blaise had been pushed into the one small corner of his mind that wasn't obsessing over Draco's unstable temperature, appetite, and temperament. 

"Has anyone seen him or his mother in the last few months?"

"No one, but the portrait, and the Muggle family who were selling it have been a great leads. The Hooper family said she had married their father a year ago and that they all liked her at first. But after his sudden death, she became cold towards them, and when they wouldn't release the estate funds immediately, she tried to sell everything, but they caught her at it, and she fled," he said, pausing to yawn. "Everyone in my department thinks she'll surface again shortly in the Wizarding world, now that the Muggle Police are looking for her and she still has some gold left in Gringotts."

Harry scratched at his stubble thoughtfully. "Draco says it's time to place some formal charges on Blaise." He shrugged. "We figure the reasons for keeping quiet aren't really important anymore."

Charlie winked. "I've already asked for the Aurors to detain him if he pops up."

"Thanks. You've been great."

"No problem. I think the next step would be to talk to any family we can find on the Wizarding side connected to any of her ex-husbands here. That'll be easier, since we have most of the marriage and death certificates and have a good idea of were to start."

Harry took a sip of milk and noticed for the first time how Charlie looked almost as worn out as he did.

"It sounds like a big job."

"I've got help. Kingsley's given me three assistants and a promotion that I've been saving to distract mum with once you spill the Malfoy beans, so to speak."

"Well done," he said, lifting his glass in a mock-toast.

"Thank you, sir." They clinked glasses. "And with the promotion comes a bit more gold, so I can leave you and Malfoy to enjoy your new arrival and the cottage in relative peace—or as much as you'll ever get with a baby in the house."

"Are you sure? You don't have to leave right away."

Charlie smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine, Harry. You remember Lee Jordan?"

"Yeah," he said, finishing his drink and sending the glass to the sink for washing up.

"I ran into him at work last week. He's working on level five now, anyway, he's just bought a country house, and was looking for someone to rent out the old stable out back."

Harry was sure that between the late hour and his sluggish thought process, he must have heard wrong.

"You want to live in the stable?"

"It's not a stable any more," Charlie said, ending with a hearty laugh. "He's done it all up like an open loft, big, bright, and hidden with lots of trees. It's perfect for me. I'll give him the word tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you first."

"Sounds brilliant. I'll miss you, though."

"You'll make a wonderful father, Harry."

Harry rested his head on one propped up palm, and gave Charlie a half-smile. His full belly was already pulling him back to sleep.

"I want this, but I don't think I'm ready," he admitted, surprising himself with the honestly.

"I heard Mum say once that no one is ever completely prepared. You do your best, ask advice, and then do what you feel is right for your family. No one has the guidebook, Harry—not even Hermione."

Harry gave a weary chuckle. "Women are baffling."

"And certifiable, but often right," Charlie said with a nod, sending his empty glass to join Harry's.

Harry ran though a mental list of everything he knew about babies: small, loud, completely dependent, and sometimes very cute. It wasn't enough to give him a blueprint for taking care of one. He had a feeling everything would fall into place, and they would learn through trial and error, but then again, he wasn't so sure.

"What if I'm pants at the whole thing and Draco…"

"He's never done this either, remember." He moved his head a little closer and lowered his voice. "And I hate to tell you," Charlie said with a rakish grin. "…but I have a feeling he'll be staying for quite some time."

"How can you know that?" Harry whispered back as his cheeks warmed.

Charlie looked straight at him and the smile vanished. "I've seen how he watches at you when you're not paying attention, Harry. If someone looked at me like that, I'd never leave."

Warm thoughts filled his sleepy mind, and he suddenly had the urge to conveniently forget Draco's snack, wander back upstairs, slip under the covers and offer him a _back rub_ instead.

"Really?"

Charlie nodded. "I don't know how you managed to find it with Malfoy, but you two definitely have…something."

Harry smiled and gave a short laugh as he got to his feet. "Yeah, we call it The Infection."

~*~

Draco woke to a flurry of sharp jabs that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. He moaned quietly, opened his eyes to the darkness, and rubbed along his right side in an attempt to lull the tornado back to sleep. Harry rolled toward him and laid his own hand protectively over the bump. It was a comforting weight, but when Draco looked up at him, Potter was already breathing deep and even again, fast asleep.

Draco smiled and let his thoughts wander back over the week as the baby stilled once more.

The guest room arrangement in Astrum Cottage had lasted only long enough for Draco to unpack, take a nap, eat dinner, and climb back into bed—Potter's bed. He hadn't asked, but something told him he wouldn't be kicked out. It was a slightly nicer room anyway and had the large fireplace that would bring his Healer to him directly, any time of day or night. It also had the added bonus of having Potter at arm's reach, and unlimited access to those talented hands and lips that seemed to be drawn to every inch of Draco's body—even the stretched out and grossly ballooned section. One day in the future, he'd have to ask Harry where he acquired his skills, but given his current unsteady emotional state, it was safer to enjoy the benefits, and save the inquisition and jealousy for another day.

He didn't consciously plan it, but every moment spent wrapped in Harry's arms made him compare whatever it was they were developing together with what he'd once had with Blaise. 

With Blaise, there had been intimacy, but nothing that that went below the surface of being naked together. They shared Draco's Manor, his bed, and some of his gold, but they never talked about anything more than the immediate future and what would return the most gain in the shortest amount of time. It was immature, built on the shifting sands of gratification, and was never meant to be anything other than short-lived.

With Harry, conversations were often complicated, uncomfortable, revealing and unpredictable. Talking with him often felt like dealing with a foreign dignitary who'd grow up in a different culture and spoke a language that was constantly evolving. However, despite the irregular and intricate dance, there was something worthwhile and satisfying about the whole ordeal. The reactions and emotions they were able to pull from each other—both exhilarating and terrifying—filled him with a fire he'd never felt with any other lover, and he could tell they were rapidly becoming addicted to whatever it was that sparked them on.

Then there was Potter's confession after Draco told him the results of the Paternity Spell. To his knowledge, no one had ever mentioned ever wanting anything from Draco other than sex, power and money, and until that moment, he hadn't seen anything wrong with that. The fact that Potter still found his distorted form attractive, and had thought far enough into the future to actually dream of sharing a child with him took several days for Draco to process. 

That first night in his office, when he'd been awakened by Harry bursting through the Floo wearing only a ratty pair of shorts, he was reluctant to let him touch the Infection. He didn't want to be reminded that Blaise's curse had done what it was supposed to do—ruin his life. But as it grew, and once they found out who the father truly was, the transformation in them both had been nothing short of miraculous. Only a few months ago, he wanted nothing to do with the life growing inside him—but would have made sure it grew up healthy, one way or another. But now—now he welcomed each brush of Harry's fingers over his tight skin and had actually started talking to—instead of swearing at—his belly whenever he was alone and the baby moved within him.

It was terrifying how domesticity now seemed like something attractive, even at twenty-two—an age where it was perfectly acceptable to live a single and selfish life. He wasn't sure what form their relationship would take, but he was surprisingly willing to entertain thoughts that would have been unacceptable only a few months ago. He imagined waking up to the same messy forest of black hair every morning, not hearing the rush of traffic outside his windows, having a small version of themselves to teach, care for, watch grow, love…

His insides clenched suddenly, and he let out a muffled cry. Harry was awake in an instant and looking down worriedly at him. The pain eased for a moment, and then rushed through him again with more force and focus. A scream was torn from him as his spine exploded with pain. Hot tears escaped from the corners of his squeezed-shut eyelids, and somewhere in the distance, Harry was calling his name.

"Draco! Shit. What's happening?"

"My back! Fuck!" was all he could manage to push through his clenched teeth.

"The baby's pressing on your spine. You have to move. Here, it'll help. Trust me, Draco. Charlie, call Curtis!"

He blurrily registered Harry's hands gripping at his hip and shoulder and rolling him forward while somehow lifting enough to get him onto his elbows and knees. He dropped his head onto the pillow below him and panted as the back pain eased slightly, leaving the uncomfortable cramping that refused to decrease in intensity.

Potter's voice merged with the Weasley's, and he gave up trying to understand the rushed conversation. Somewhere to his right, the fire roared to life, and the shadowy figure of Healer Leach swam into view. Draco took a few more quick breaths and tried to ground himself to the sensation of Harry's whispered gibberish and the massaging fingers on his rigid back, but it was no use. The Infection was no longer happy with being confined, and was preparing to burst him open. 

He was suddenly terrified, despite three voices fruitlessly encouraging him to relax. More tears escaped, and he could do nothing to stop them from running over his temples, sliding up into his hairline and onto his pillow to be swallowed up with his screams and pointless pleading.

Out of the haze of agony, he felt a cool hand press against his burning cheek and heard his mother's voice whispering to him. He turned his head to the side, tried to focus on her face, and saw eyes filled with love, "You can survive this, Draco. Your child needs you to stay calm."

"I can't—I, it hurts!"

"Yes you can," she said, brushing the sticky hair out of his eyes. "You're my son."

He took a few shallow breaths and gave her the best smile he could from upside-down, just as he heard the words of a Spell and felt darkness wrap around him, pulling him into a place of comfortable numbness and calming silence.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat in the rocking chair next to the bed, and looked over to where Draco was finally clean, healed and sleeping. His face was paler than Harry had ever seen it before, but considering what he'd been through, the fact that he was even alive was a miracle.

Nothing had gone the way they'd expected—practised—and yet Curtis had been remarkable, remaining calm and business-like through it all: the blood, thrashing, profanity and chilling silence that settled over them once the baby was free of Draco's belly. It was a moment Harry never wanted to feel again—the fear that closed around his heart in the few horrifying seconds when no sound came from the small, limp purple body laying in the Healer's large, wet hands. 

The world reanimated at the first cries from the tiny mouth, and Harry had been temporarily blinded by tears that filled his eyes and spilled over his cheeks as he sobbed with joy.

What came next, he would never forget: a flurry of voices and spells, a sleepy whisper of his name from the bed, and Narcissa Malfoy walking toward him with a baby—his baby—bundled in a startlingly white blanket, and handing it carefully to him.

"Meet your son," she said, as he looked down into the folds and saw silver-blue eyes blinking up at him. His heart jumped into his throat, and he had a hard time remembering how to breathe. He'd never seen anything so amazing. His world narrowed to that one small bundle, and the little nose that was a miniature of his own. He didn't have any hands free to wipe the tears that were falling onto his son, but he didn't care. In Harry's opinion, if there was ever a good time to cry, it was when a life was either leaving the world, or being added to it.

"What have you decided to call him?"

Her voice pulled him briefly away from the curse turned miracle, who was slowly falling asleep in his arms. He looked again to Draco, and then back up to where Curtis and Narcissa were silently watching him. Luckily, he and Draco had agreed on a boy's name only a few hours before. 

"Orion."

She nodded her approval and bent to kiss her new grandson. She then moved gracefully to the bed, kissed Draco, and told Harry to notify her when he awoke again. On her way to the fireplace, she paused in front of him again, brushed the back of her hand over the baby's flushed cheek, gave him a soft smile, and then took the Floo back to the Manor. 

Curtis raised his eyebrows.

"Orion?"

"Constellations," Harry offered him in explanation. "Black family tradition."

"I know all about family naming traditions." He knelt in front of Harry and gently rubbed his finger over the small fist squished up under Orion's chin. He changed the tone of his voice to sound as if he was going to read Orion a bedtime story. "As I've been told, my mother spent three months trying to talk my father out of naming me Nobby the Fourth."

Harry stifled his laugh, trying not to move the baby too much or wake up Draco.

"Is it rude to say I'm glad she won?"

"Not at all," he said, adding his own quiet chuckle. "She wanted _Curtis_ after her twin brother who died just before I was born."

"That's reasonable." 

"However," he continued in story-voice, "my father had his mind set on tradition, and is a professional politician used to getting what he wants."

"So what finally did it?" Harry asked, realising for the first time how little he really new about their Healer.

"She got Uncle Curtis' ghost to follow him everywhere until he eventually gave in."

"Clever," Harry said with a soft laugh. "Draco was the one who suggested Orion. It was the name of my Godfather's father."

Curtis' eyebrows leapt again. "I've heard a story or two about Orion Black."

Harry grimaced. "Me too, but I figure _our_ Orion will have a chance to make the name his own. The best part is that Draco said we could call him 'Ryan' when Narcissa isn't around," he said with a wide grin as Curtis chuckled.

"Well, whatever he's called, he'll be loved." Curtis moved his hand from the baby to the arm of the rocking chair and stood. "Considering all the factors, things could have been much worse. You both did admirably."

Harry swallowed, looked again at his son, and tried not to think about all the things that could have gone wrong. He pushed against the floor and the chair rocked smoothly back and forth.

"It was worth it," he whispered. "Thank you, Curtis."

"My pleasure."

Harry caught sight of the Healer yawning.

"We'll be fine for a few hours. Go get some sleep."

"All right, but you let me know if anything changes." Harry nodded. "Oh, and I know we talked about the feedings, but Draco may be a little nervous or embarrassed at first, so just be there for support if he needs it. Even though he doesn't have to deal with breasts, the process can still be intimidating."

Harry nodded again. They'd read all the material, but Draco had confessed to being sceptical that it would all work the way it was supposed to. 

Curtis seemed to have cottoned on to Harry's train of thought.

"Allan, my husband, had a bit of trouble at first, but within a day, he was a pro—they both were."

"Charlie said you delivered your daughter," Harry said, remembering Draco's cries and Curtis' calm presence during the chaos. He pulled Orion a little closer.

"Yes, Ava." His face lit up. "She'll be a year next week. Seems like yesterday."

"Wow. That must have been…"

"It was," he said, waving his wand at the last of the soiled towels and sheets. "Every birth is amazing, but when it's your own child…well, there's no describing it, is there?"

Their eyes met, and for the first time, Harry recognised the wonder he felt and saw it reflected there. He smiled and silently agreed that he'd never find the words to properly express what he was feeling.

The Healer collected his jacket and strode toward the fireplace, but turned around once his hand was full of Floo Powder.

"He's going to change your life, Harry."

Harry turned his gaze toward the bed, reassured by the steady rise and fall of Draco's chest.

"He already has."

~*~

The Reception Hall of the Manor had always seemed large enough for any event they would ever need to host, but as a mystifying number of Weasleys and well-wishers kept stepping out of the Floo and turning up at the door, Draco felt as if the walls were closing in. His arms tightened instinctively around his son. 

He silently swore at himself for allowing his mother to talk them into throwing the naming ceremony only five days after giving birth. He was sore, tired and cranky, and didn't appreciate the constant noise and attention as much as everyone assumed he should.

Harry must have felt him tense up, because he was suddenly making excuses for them to Granger, and promising to return shortly. He felt Potter's hand gently lead him by the elbow out of the Hall, around the corner, and out to the covered and blissfully empty conservatory where the air was a cool and refreshing in contrast to the suffocating heat they'd just left behind.

Harry's arms wrapped around him from behind and Draco relaxed against him, taking a deep breath and feeling much better.

Orion burped and kicked his little legs.

"All right?" Harry asked, placing a kiss over Draco's temple.

"Just so many people. I have no reason to feel so—so…" He frowned in frustration when the word wouldn't come.

Curtis said his emotions and memory would continue to be unreliable for another few weeks yet, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. 

"Protective?" Harry offered, gently. 

Draco nodded and smiled. He was trying not to find amusement in the way Harry approached him on uneven footing due to the rapid mood changes, and yet he was secretly glad that it took quite a lot to rattle Potter once his mind was set on something. Luckily for Draco, Harry's mind was firmly set on the idea of their small and very new family.

"I've been feeling that way too—edgy, I guess, but I didn't really know what it was until now."

Draco looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Why do they think they have a right to run up and start poking at him and pulling him out of my arms?"

Harry shrugged. "It's the force of a baby, I guess. Everyone just wants to see him, and share in the whole moment. That's what Molly keeps telling me, anyway."

"I know that," Draco said with a sigh, "—but try telling that to my body. I feel empty when he's not…Merlin, I sound like a woman."

There was a cough from somewhere behind them. They both turned to see Charlie stepping into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt the family moment, but I…"

"No, it's fine," Harry said, stepping away from Draco and offering his hand to Charlie. "I was wondering if you were going to turn up."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but we got a break in the—" he paused, his eyes flicked to Draco and then back to Harry. "—case," he finished flatly.

"Blaise?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, caught both him and his mum trying to make a go of it in Muggle Paris."

The baby began to fuss. Draco started a rocking, bouncing movement, and Orion gurgled happily. 

Charlie added something else, but Draco missed it, too focused on how much his son looked like Harry, except for the eye colour and the translucent peach fuzz covering his little head.

Draco looked up. "Sorry, what was that you said?"

"We sent word to all the families that his mum had deceived, and told them that the case was being reopened. Responses came faster than we could copy them down. She's made a lot of enemies, even more than I imagined."

"Where's Blaise?" Harry asked, placing a finger in Orion's open palm. The miniature fingers closed around it instinctively.

"Holding cell at Headquarters. That's why I'm here, actually. His preliminary hearing is scheduled for next week. I know it's not a lot of time, but…"

Draco looked at Harry, saw the answer he was looking for, and then said, "We'll be there."

"If there's anything you need…"

"Thanks, Charlie," Harry said, offering his free hand again. "—for everything."

"Don't mention it."

Draco chuckled as Orion stuck his little tongue out at Charlie.

"Hey, little man," Charlie said in a high voice, waving a freckly hand. "It's Uncle Charlie."

Draco rolled his eyes, but still found himself smiling, regardless.

~*~

The Floo whooshed to life just as Harry was pulling on his new black t-shirt. Draco had given it to him a minute ago while saying something about nursing Orion once more before they left, and giving Harry orders to Firecall Granger and to be looking edible by the time he returned from the nursery.

Harry was sure his cheeks were still red as Hermione's face came into focus in the flames.

"Oh, good. I was just beginning to worry," she said on a sigh of relief.

Harry stopped smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt and stared at her for a moment.

"Ah, what?"

"Well, what happened?" she asked impatiently.

He had no idea how she knew what he thought she did. When he kept looking at her without answering, she tried again.

"Didn't you see the evening edition of The Daily Prophet, Harry?" 

Harry let out a long breath and rubbed his forehead. At least he knew what was going on now.

"No. Let me guess, though. The results from Blaise's sentencing are on page one?" 

She shook her head quickly. "Not the results, no, just that it happened today in a closed session," she said the last bit with an accusatory tone that he'd heard Mrs Weasley use on Arthur.

"Well, there goes the surprise," he said, shaking his head at the resourcefulness of Wizarding reporters. "No one except involved parties were supposed to know about the date and time. I'm sorry."

He thought her cheeks might be filling with colour, but it was hard to tell in the flames.

"Oh, well. I suppose that's understandable. Were you happy with the results?"

"I guess. We're just glad it's over. He's serving one year in detention and then five years probation without magic, working as maintenance staff at a Muggle orphanage—under supervision."

"Well, that's rather creative. Sounds like the Wizengamot is finally putting some thought into their punishments," she said while nodding slowly. "Anything yet on his mother?"

"She'll be in-between trials and protective custody for a while, I think—years, maybe."

Hermione took a deep breath, her eyes furious. "I can't believe…" she pressed her lips tightly together, and Harry could tell she was keeping herself from pouring out her opinion on the matter. 

"I know. Draco still spends most of his free time figuring out the nastiest way to Curse the Zabini Family Line. You should see the old Spell books he's borrowed from the Manor."

She gave him a stern look. Chuckling, he put on his best apologetic smile and changed the subject. "We were going to pop over after dinner, tell you about the trial, and then ask for a bit favour, but…"

Her face was suddenly open and familiar again. "Anything, Harry, what is it?"

Realising he didn't quite know how to ask without giving away his motive, he just started talking, and hoped she'd make some sense out of it.

"We're—there's somewhere we'd like to go. It'll just be for a couple of hours, and we're wondering if you wouldn't mind? We'll be back before he needs feeding again, but just in case, Draco's getting ready some of—um, you know—his milk, to bring along…" he tailed off and smiled at her sheepishly, knowing he must look like a man with a newborn who was willing to move the world for the possibility of sex.

He tried smoothing down his hair with his hands, but quickly gave up and summoned a brush for something to do. 

Her eyes twinkled. "You're taking him out, aren't you? This is serious."

He sighed, only slightly embarrassed. "Yeah."

"Say no more," she said, beaming. "Bring the baby over whenever you're ready. We'll take good care of him."

"I know you will. Thanks, Hermione."

"Have fun, Harry," she said with a wink, and then pulled away from the fire.

Harry knew he was blushing now, but he really didn't care. 

He frantically pulled the brush through his hair and looked, with a bit of trepidation, at the mirror. Not bad. The t-shirt looked good too: plain black with vertical ribbing. It fit him perfectly and shone a little when he turned into the light.

"Passable," Draco said, sliding up behind him and running his hands along the outline of Harry's spine, and down the back of the jeans Draco had also picked out for him. 

Harry smiled into the mirror.

"What did she say?" Draco asked, moving his lips against Harry's ear.

He loved when Draco did that, but it tended to make him forget what was being asked. He tried to remember what they'd just been talking about.

"She said we can bring him whenever we're ready."

"Well, then. What are we waiting for? Get a move on, Potter."

Harry yelped as his left buttock was firmly pinched.

~*~

The club was loud, crowded and smoky—just as Harry had described it—but it was exactly what Draco needed. The music was bass-heavy and unfamiliar, but it didn't matter. Four months spent indoors and pregnant had given him a new appreciation for anything different. He finally felt as if some of his energy was returning, and he wanted to make sure Harry was there to see him at his best. He led them out to the dance floor and started to give Harry a show he hoped would be hard to forget. 

It had been a long time since he'd been dancing, but he still remembered how to move, and it felt brilliant. Empowering. He started with leading Harry's hands to his hips and swayed them side-to-side, following the steady rhythms pumping from the giant speakers. Harry took hold of the belt loops and pulled but Draco stopped him with a hand on his chest and mouthed the word 'watch'. 

Harry mock-pouted, but obediently stayed where he was, fingers loosely playing along the band of Draco's trousers. Draco flashed him a devilish smile, crossed his arms low in front, and grabbed the hem of his silver shirt. He felt a rush of power at the sight of Harry. He was barely moving, hardly breathing—staring hungrily and biting his lower lip. He gave a shallow nod and Draco began to gather the shimmery fabric up into his palms, making a new dance out of removing clothing in a public place. Harry continued to stare, and someone behind him let out a whooping shout and applauded.

Draco focused only on the one person he was there to impress, and continued sliding the shirt up until his arms were crossed high on his chest, parallel to each other, frozen there until he gave the faintest tilt of his head, and Harry knew it was time to take what he wanted.

It was only a moment before the shirt was pulled up, off, and forgotten in the tangle of arms, lips, hands and inaudible words that passed between them. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck and thrilled at the slide of his sensitive nipples over the smooth fabric of Harry's new shirt. Harry seemed entranced, unable to stop caressing Draco's back or tasting his neck. Couples backed away from them, but Draco just threw back his head, shot them a dreamy smirk and then rolled his hips in a slow, wide sweep that froze Harry mid-lick. He snapped his head up, and locked his eyes with Draco's.

Message received.

Within two minutes, they had recovered Draco's shirt and were running out the club entrance, hand in hand, in search of an unoccupied location fit for Dissaparating from. 

~*~

Back at the cottage, Harry led them the wrong way down the hall, towards Charlie's old room. He kissed the puzzlement from Draco's brow and whispered, "It's a surprise. Trust me."

He opened the door slowly, eyes fixed on Draco for the reaction he was hoping for. When startled eyes moved to his, Harry pulled him close and took advantage of Draco's open mouth. He didn't know what it was about kissing Draco, but now that he had permission to do it whenever he wanted to, he hardly wanted to do anything else—almost. He pulled back and grinned.

"What do you think?"

Draco took his time looking around the room. "A bed that takes up nearly the whole room, candles…" he listed, tilting his neck to look past Harry's shoulder to the conspicuous jar on the nightstand. "—and lube. Either Charlie is back and trying to seduce us, or you're looking to get lucky."

"Hmm…" Harry pretended to be deep in thought. "I already have a beautiful man in my bed every night and a healthy son—I'd say I'm pretty lucky already."

Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling and back. "Oh, that's horrible. Pick that up in Gryffindor?"

They both laughed, and Harry tugged Draco into the room.

"I don't know the mating rituals of Slytherins. I could just worship you from the bed for a while, I suppose," he teased.

"Better," Draco said flatly, failing to keep his grin hidden. "But no finesse."

Once the door was shut and the candles lit, the heat and humour of the situation seemed to evaporate, and Harry was left feeling suddenly unsteady. They were standing at the foot of the bed, holding each other loosely, studying each other as if they were just two normal men who'd met, had a good time together, and were now contemplating something more, but neither was moving them forward. 

It was nothing for them to climb under the covers together, touch and kiss—they'd been doing that for months, but until now they'd never…

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" He asked, swallowing.

Draco nodded, but began moving his fingers along the base of Harry's spine, light, quick touches that warmed his skin.

"Well, we knew it would be. Wasn't it you who said we never do any thing the right way 'round?"

Harry chuckled, and began working his own fingers down the back of Draco's trousers. He relaxed slightly, happy to be back on somewhat common ground.

"No, that was you. But you're right."

"I say it makes things more interesting. Don't you agree?"

"And terrifying," he admitted, as he swallowed and fought with the words he wanted to say. It was far more difficult than he'd imagined. 

Working on instinct, he moved forward and slowly lost himself in the sensation of Draco's mouth moving against his. Every brush of their tongues added another log to the fire burning far below his belt. Draco moaned and Harry pulled back drunkenly. "God, Draco, I want you, but I…"

Harry was stuck somewhere between elation at the thought of Draco being his _first_ , and crushing embarrassment that at twenty-two he was still a virgin—technically. He knew he was being stupid, but that small bit of self-awareness didn't help the fact that his fingers were now shaking.

"Shut it, Potter," Draco teased, biting gently at Harry's lip. "Let me show you how it's done."

He captured Harry's unsteady hands and brought them to his lips in a recreation of their first real night together. With every fingertip that was caressed and nibbled, Harry's breathing became easier, and he lost himself in Draco's tenderness. He closed his eyes and focused in on the sensations.

A sharp bite to the pad of his thumb, and his eyelids fly open once more. He was greeted by the most innocent smile he'd ever seen. It quickly turned mischievous, and Harry laughed.

"Enough foreplay, Potter. I want you naked and in this bed now."

"Yes, sir."

~*~

Draco knew they were pushing for time, and that Hermione was most likely tapping her foot, but he couldn't quite school enough energy to pull back the covers and untangle himself from Harry, who was mumbling into his pillow. Draco didn't blame him—he felt the same way: warm, incoherent, sated, well worked-over, and something else…something new.

He stared at the wooden ceiling beams, and snaked his hand under the covers and along Harry's warm side until he found the hand he'd been searching for. Harry hummed and shifted slowly until he was wrapped around Draco's side, arm gently draped over his shoulder so that their fingers were still connected.

Draco closed his eyes and watched their lovemaking again in his mind's eye, smiling to himself as he remembered Harry trying to keep still as Draco climbed over him and straddled his hips. It was his favourite moment of the night, and they hadn't done anything yet. 

His plan had been to make a show out of preparing himself—working Harry into a mess of need until he forgot all about inexperience and took what he wanted—what they both wanted. But it didn't happen that way.

Kneeling over Harry's hips, Draco had looked down just as Harry looked up at him. The heat and hurry faded somewhere in the moment that they shared, and Draco sensed they were both somewhat out of their depths—moving to new ground without a map. Harry smiled and then took his gaze down to where the bump used to separate them. Draco closed his eyes and sighed as warm hands smoothed over his skin, avoided his cock and moved along the scar that was nearly gone now. It was a touch more intimate than sex, and made the hot fuck he'd envisioned seem unattractive and far too common.

"I love you, Draco."

He opened his eyes.

He'd been waiting for it, expecting it, but on his mental list of things he was planning on confessing and hearing it wasn't supposed to happen yet—maybe not for another year—months at least.

"I know it's soon, but it's the truth," Harry whispered.

And Draco could do nothing but nod, swallow back emotion that hadn't been there a second before, and accept the tears that came from nowhere and landed on Harry's chest.

It was embarrassing at first, and a flicker of an apology passed over Harry's expression, but in reflection, he was glad it happened the way it did. Draco had been holding up his wall of superficiality, hiding months of stress, worry, anger, fear and a host of other unhealthy things, and without his knowledge, they'd been slowly chipping away at it together. When it broke, Harry was there.

He could have never found that with Blaise—would never have wanted to. 

Making love after breaking apart, feeling Harry slowly, finally entering him as he sank down—it was right, it was wonderful, but it was only one small flicker the full life that was possible—one he never would have imagined for himself before…before The Infection. Before Harry.

He turned his head and was met with very open, very awake green eyes. He kissed Harry's slightly parted lips, and then twisted around until they were facing each other fully. He reached again for Harry's hand.

"While we're doing things out of order, we might as well get married."

Harry pushed himself up on an elbow, looking shell-shocked. "Really?"

Draco shrugged lazily and pulled their hands under the covers. 

"The way I see it, we've already had one event at the Manor, it's easy to find, and probably still decorated from the naming ceremony," he said, playfully brushing their fingers along his reawakened cock. "We should make the most out of it, don't you think?"

Harry played along, but was still looking at him with confusion. "Very economical of you."

"Thank you." He lifted his head a little, and Harry met him halfway for another kiss. 

"Also," he continued, "the cottage is comfortable. If I don't lay claim," in a smooth motion, Draco pulled his hand—still wrapped with Harry's—out to the side. Harry fell forward with the movement and they were suddenly pressed together. Draco almost lost his train of thought, but then recovered it again. "—someone is bound to try to have me usurped."

"Wouldn't want that," Harry said against Draco's throat.

Harry slid his leg over Draco and shifted his weight so he was above him, around him. They were touching everywhere, and Draco couldn't stop the moan that escaped. He made another when Harry lowered his head again to press kisses over Draco's flushed collarbone.

"And there's Orion," Draco panted.

Harry looked up and grinned. "You already have a claim on him."

He snaked his hands up and around Harry's neck. "True, but as all stands now, I'm afraid he'll grow up a bastard."

Harry laughed. Draco felt it roll through both of them.

"Poor kid. All right. I'll do it—for his sake." 

Then Harry was on the move again, lower, and Draco's legs were suddenly the ones on the outside. Arms slid under his back, and Harry's mouth was everywhere—exploring his chest, licking his stomach, and throwing Draco's game out the window, down the stairs, and over the back fence. He didn't care what happened next as long as it kept happening. A rough cheek slid along the side of his cock, and his hands flew into the head of hair between his legs. He held his breath, and watched the poetry of Harry's tongue sliding up, over and around. His fingers closed into fists, trapping black hair and pulling a moan from Harry that Draco couldn't help but echo.

Only when he was on the edge of 'too close', did he gently tug Harry up until they were side by side. He wanted to watch again, make another memory of Harry coming undone. He was blotchy and heavy lidded, and as far-gone as Draco felt. He pulled their hips together, and they both cried out. Friction took precedence over grace, and they rocked unevenly and blissfully toward completion.

~*~

Harry's chest burned as he rolled onto to his back—bringing an exhausted Draco with him—and tried to get his breathing back under control. He had no idea of the time, except he had a feeling it was a good hour past 'reasonable'. There was no way Hermione would believe excuses, but he doubted he'd need them anyway. She probably knew exactly what they were doing, or had just done—twice. 

Draco muttered a few different cleaning spells, and Harry took it as good a sign as any to get dressed and moving. A hand pressed him back into the bed, and all at once, Draco was leaning over him, biting down on his own bottom lip and releasing it a few times. His eyes shone, but Harry couldn't read anything but distress there.

His heart fell. Something was wrong. 

At a loss of what to do, he just started talking. "Is it about the wedding, because we..."

Draco rubbed his forehead with his free hand. He looked suddenly tired.

"No, Potter. I meant that—I want to, but..."

Harry began to panic, searching for something he might have said or done to spoil their incredible evening—turn it into whatever it was that was putting lines of worry around Draco's eyes. 

"Tell me, please."

He didn't expect the kiss to his forehead or the gentle hand that was carding through his hair.

Draco gave him a weary smile. "Thank you—for what you said to me before the whole crying…"

Harry let out his breath. "You're welcome." he said quickly, getting a clue finally, although in truth, understanding didn't make him feel any more stable. "But it's all right—you don't have to say…"

"I'm trying. It's—I've never said it before—to anyone."

Harry stroked his hand down Draco's arm to the hand covering his heart. 

"I know. That's good enough for me." And it was, for now. It was more than he'd ever had before.

Draco's smile was sad, but honest.

"No it's not, but I'll work on it. I want this. I want all three of us."

There were several responses running through Harry's mind, but none of them made it to his lips. Draco got there first, and took his time wordlessly communicating what he was unable to say. Harry returned his own message in the same language, feeling the tension around his heart diminish with each long minute the kiss continued.

Draco pulled away first, rested his forehead against Harry's and chuckled under his breath.

"I'm glad we got that straight."

Harry laughed with him. "Yeah, me too."

"We should probably go get our son before Granger gets it into her head to keep him."

Harry stole one more kiss, playfully pushed Draco off to the side, and sat up. 

"She'll give him back. They're getting an Infection of their own. Should arrive in November, according to her calculations."

The candles were still casting romantic light around the room, but they were unhelpful for locating dark clothes on the dark floor. He ordered the lights on, and Draco groaned beside him, pulling the blankets over his head.

"Oh, dear Merlin up a Flag Pole—more Weasleys," Draco moaned from somewhere in his cocoon. "There should be a Ministry enforced quota." 

Harry laughed and began the hunt for his trousers. "Maybe, or we could try to catch up," he half-teased, eyeing Draco as his head popped out of the coverlet, eyes slowly adjusting to the brightened lights.

Harry smoothed down his hair and threw a handful of powder into the Floo. As the flames jumped up around him, he caught a glimpse of Draco springing naked from the bed. 

"WHAT? Potter, get back here!"

Harry winked, closed his eyes against the whirling soot, and spun toward their future.

~*~


End file.
